


Neverland

by tabaqui



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabaqui/pseuds/tabaqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Sunnydale where Miss Calendar lives and Xander Harris disappeared years ago, Spike is freed from his imprisonment in Giles' tub by...a boy.  A boy who can fly.   A more canon-compliant (read, darker) version of Neverland, where the pirates don't dance jigs and the mermaids have teeth.  And a vampire and a Lost Boy might just save each other.</p><p>Originally posted in August of 2006.  One of my favorite AU Buffy fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neverland

_*Cabal of witches,*_ Spike thought, shuddering. He lay as still as a dead thing in the Watcher's tub, listening. The red-head, the blonde and the brunette from school. Conspiring. About _him_. About...

_"I'm not sh-sure about this. I mean, didn't Angel say it hurt? When the gypsies - I mean, wu-when your people cursed him?"_

_"Isn't that kind of the point, though? It's a curse - it's **supposed** to hurt."_

_*Bitch. Red-headed **bitch**. Should have shoved that bottle right through your brain, should have -*_

_"It was originally written so that he'd feel the pain and guilt of every evil deed he'd done for the rest of eternity."_ Firm voice, sure and steady. The teacher - Jenny. _"The Chuvani thought that in time he might feel like he'd - atoned enough, or just - get over it. So the curse kept the pain alive."_

_"That just s-seems really cruel."_

_*Maybe I won't kill **you**. You're a little bit of all right, blondie.*_

_"Well, but - he's a vampire, Tara! He's killed thousands and thousands of people!"_

_"They **all** deserve to suffer. Look - here's the spell for the chip. Once we've put his soul back, we'll deactivate the chip so he can help us."_

Spike jerked in the tub - froze as the chains _tinked_ against porcelain. Deactivate? They _could_ do it - _*Fucking **bitches**! I knew you were lying to me!*_

_"According to Angel there's this law firm called Wolfram and Hart - they're humans but they work for demons. He'll have to be able to defend himself from them. They've come after Angel a couple of times already."_

_"But - what if he - I mean - what if something - happens? The 'moment of perfect happiness' thing?"_

_"I took that out."_ Jenny sounded smug. Spike snarled silently, flashing to the demon's face and back. _"There's no loophole with this soul."_

Oh god, oh bloody fucking _hell_. He had to get out of there.

 

Two nights later, the witches and the Watcher and the Slayer were out dealing with - something. Demon, vampire - end-of-the-bloody-world dance that they did every fortnight, apparently. And Spike was straining against the chains. Trying, for the fifth or six fucking time to _break_ them. His wrists were bleeding, his shoulders ached and the tap lay in the bottom of the tub from where he'd kicked it in sheer frustration.

But nothing was happening. Not a link opening - not even _bending_. Magiced, those chains, and Spike kicked the end of the tub until it cracked and then he lay there, exhausted. Wishing he could get to his fucking smokes or a bottle or - fuck - _anything_. This weekend was _the_ weekend. The bloody witches were going to shove a soul down his throat and ship him off to brood in LA with Angel and if it would have made him dust Spike would have gnawed open both wrists and ended it right there. But that would only make a useless mess - pig's blood stank in a mug _and_ trickling down his forearms.

Stank enough to make him sick.

Spike _pushed_ , feet and neck, the curve of the tub pressing hard and cold into his spine - the back of his skull. He felt as panicky as a mouse under the stoop of a hawk. _*No escaping, no escaping this thing, have to get out, get out **get out**!*_ In the dimness of the bathroom, the blood smeared on the white tub was black and shiny, like ink. Spike blinked at the ceiling - blinked away stray blood-drops. He refused to believe they were tears.

"Why are you crying?"

Spike jerked upright, snarling. A shadow flinched back, hovering in the doorway.

"I'm not...who the hell are _you_?" A slight figure moved forward, into the anemic glow that filtered in off the street. A boy, dressed in rags and tatters and - _leaves_? Dark, curled hair that framed a narrow, cat-like face. And eyes... Spike shivered and gritted his teeth. 

The boy made an old-fashioned bow. "I'm Peter Pan."

Spike couldn't contain the sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter that coughed out of his chest. " _Bloody_ hell! Peter fucking Pan? I've lost it. Gone well and truly off the rails. Be talking to my mum next."

The boy eased closer - close enough to touch the edge of the tub and Spike could smell leaves and woodsmoke and that salt-sweet scent that was 'boy'. Like cake and blood together. "You have a mother?"

"No, I bloody well do _not_. Listen, figment, go away. I need to figure out these chains, not sit here nattering on with a hallucination."

The boy leaned a little and his fingertip touched the manacle around Spike's left wrist. "I sent Tink to look for the key. I expect she'll find it soon enough." He turned those eyes on Spike again. Ancient eyes, that promised chaos and tears in equal measure. "You're William the Bloody."

Spike's eyes narrowed and he pushed himself more upright, wincing at the raw rub of iron on his skin. "It's Spike now."

"Spike? I don't like that as much. William the Bloody! It's got a real ring to it. Like - Blackbeard Joe or Red-Handed Jack."

"I'm not a sodding _pirate_. I'm a vampire and it's _Spike_."

"Because of the railroad spikes," Peter said. He cocked his head and Spike could hear a faint tinkling like little bells, and then a crash. "Tink's making a mess."

"Serves the bloody Watcher right if she does," Spike muttered. "How do _you_ know who I am? Oh, wait, nevermind. You're just a figment of my imagination, after all, of _course_ you know who I am."

"I'm not a figment!" Peter said hotly. He was scowling, biting his lip, and Spike wanted to laugh. But he couldn't quite make himself. Peter looked back over his shoulder and then a moment later a fluttering mauve light darted into the room. "Hullo, Tink! Did you find it?" The light hovered for a moment, tinkling, and Peter held up his hand. Something smallish and heavy smacked into his palm. "Good job, Tink!" 

The light tinkled again, sounding agitated. It was hovering almost motionlessly and Spike could just make out a figure within the light; too-long limbs and dandelion puff of pale hair. Naked - and distinctly male. "That's not a girl," Spike said, feeling stupid the moment the words came out of his mouth and the light swooped at him, flicking over his lips in what might very well have been a kiss. _*I am out of my fucking mind.*_

"Of _course_ Tinker Bell's a girl! Tink's _always_ a girl; it says so in the book! They wrote a _book_ about me, you know." Peter glared at Spike and Spike wanted to cringe away. He snarled instead, flashing to his other face and Peter suddenly grinned. "Oh! Do that again!"

"Is that the key you've got there?" Spike said, and Peter looked down at his hand.

"It is. But do that with your face again!"

"Not 'til you open these bloody chains." _*Might as well give it a try. Hellmouth, after all. Maybe hallucinations can actually - do stuff.*_

Peter looked ready to argue but then the light was back, fluttering and tinkling, and the look of anger gradually left Peter's face. "Yes, you're right about that, Tink. Can't very well expect him to fly with those chains. Yes, all right, that makes sense." Peter leaned onto the edge of the tub, gesturing with the key. "Tink says you can't fly to Neverland with those chains on, and she's right."

"Fly to - Neverland. No. Course not." 

"But I want a promise first!" Peter held up the key and Spike bit back a growl. "Promise you'll show me that trick with your face when I let you loose."

"Oh, sodding hell. Yeah, I promise!" Spike lifted his hands as high as they would go. "Now get these bloody things off me!" 

Peter shook his head but he bent over the locks and laboriously worked the key into them, grimacing a little. "You've got them all clotted up with blood," he muttered.

"Try and bleed less next time, shall I?" Spike snapped. Peter shot him a withering look and then bent over Spike's ankles while Spike carefully peeled the cuffs of his wrists, hissing a little. The skin underneath was raw and torn - grooved from the iron. He inspected them carefully and when the chains finally clinked and slithered into a heap at the bottom of the tub he stood up and climbed out. His ankles were sore, too, but the tough leather of his boots had protected them.

"Now - show me your face!" Peter tossed the key into the bottom of the tub and stood, bouncing slightly in his eagerness. Spike ignored him. He bent over the sink and turned on the water - carefully rinsed his wrists clean and then blotted them on one of the Watcher's towels. They left fuzzy, scarlet stains and Spike threw the towel down on the floor and then stretched, twisting. His back was killing him. Sodding Watcher. 

Peter was floating now, six inches off the ground. Scowling at Spike, his hand resting on the hilt of a small dagger that he had shoved through his belt. "You _promised_ you'd show me! You promised! I'll cut you if you don't show me!"

"You're an irritating little git, aren't you?" Spike said. But he sighed and faced Peter squarely, shifting his features without warning. 

Peter made a small sound of delight. "Oh! Oh, that's really first rate! You'll terrify the redskins with that face! Tink! Fly closer so I can really see." The fairy obliged and Spike felt his lips lift away from his fangs in a snarl. The fairy smelled of sorrel and earth and the motion of his wings sent a small breeze over Spike.

"That's close enough," Spike muttered, drawing back a little. Peter hovered in front of him, his eyes taking in every detail.

"First rate," he murmured finally, and drifted away, toward the door. "Come on now - we need to fly fast. The pirates were plotting something, I'm sure - we'll come back to find everyone killed if we don't hurry." He didn't sound particularly put out by that. 

In fact, Spike thought there was a distinct undertone of gleeful anticipation in the idea of 'everyone' being dead. _*Don't remember him being this sodding blood thirsty. Been a long time, though, since I read it...*_ Spike brushed past Pan and headed up the hall. "Need to get my coat. And the Watcher's good whisky. And that bloody spell."

"What kind of a spell?" Peter dodged ahead, his heels kicking two smudges on the ceiling. 

"None of your business," Spike said. His coat was hanging on the tree by the door. A tweedy jacket and a windbreaker that smelled like the Slayer were on top of it and Spike shook them to the floor with a small growl - swung his coat on, settling it with a twist of his shoulders. The familiar, chill weight felt good - made his shoulders go back and his chin come up. The contents of the pockets seemed to be undisturbed and he touched the keys to his DeSoto with a grin. The light - the _fairy_ \- flitted around Spike's head as he dug through the Watcher's cabinet and liberated the bottle. The fairy chattered, and Spike swiped at it.

"Tink says spells are no good. Tink says magic is in your bones or not at all. Tink says -"

"You know, I don't really give a buggering _fuck_ about what Tink says."

Peter gaped at him in astonishment. "But fairies know all about magic!"

"It's _different_ here." Spike yanked open a drawer on the Watcher's desk and rifled through it - turned to the bookshelves and then the coffee table that was piled with books and papers. There was a heap of broken pottery by the end-table - one of the jars the Watcher had gotten from a ransacked crypt. Spike hoped the fairy breaking it had released some sort of curse or evil spirit. Tink dodged and darted under his hands, landing little pinches and kicks and he irritably flicked the fairy away several times. He wasn't actually sure _what_ he was looking for. He doubted they'd written 'chip deactivation' across the top. He ended up taking everything that was in the teacher's handwriting, folding it and shoving it into a pocket. 

Peter was flying around and around the loft area, doing summersaults over the rail and mock fencing with his shadow, which fought back independently of what Peter was doing. Spike stared for a long moment and then pulled out his cigarettes - lit up and walked for the door.

"Right, that's me off. Ta very much for letting me free, now piss off," Spike said, and slammed the door behind him. The sultry air of a California autumn never smelled so good.

 

He only got a block and half before Peter and Tink caught up with him. Peter dove down at him from the top of a tall oak, Tink riding his shoulder.

"Where are _you_ going? We have to fly! Second on the right -"

"'Straight on 'til morning', yes, I _know_." Spike took a hard drag off his cigarette and flicked the butt away, trying to walk around Peter, who was hovering obstinately in front of him. "Look, you're not a figment, that's - that's bloody strange, but I'm not going to Neverland." Spike dodged left but Peter dodged with him and he stopped, exasperated. 

"But you have to," Peter said, a tiny warning tremble in his voice that either precluded blubbing or hysterics and Spike really didn't want to deal with either.

"I don't _have_ to do anything -"

"The pirates are getting too strong! They win almost every time and I've had to get new lost boys so many times they don't even remember who I am!" Peter's feet sank lower and lower until he was standing on the sidewalk, looking dejected and a little bewildered. "And Wendy doesn't - I mean, it seems like -" Peter shook his head hard, as if to dislodge bad thoughts. Tink was tinkling at him, his mauve light staining the tatters Peter wore with a bloody hue. Suddenly Peter smiled and shot straight up into the air. Spike took his opportunity and started walking again, fast.

"That's right! Oh, capital, Tink! I knew you'd think of something." Peter did a loop-the-loop and floated down to Spike, keeping pace easily with him. "Tink and me, we listened at the window when that old man and the ladies were talking about you. I wanted that golden-haired lady for a mother but Tink said she was too old." Tink landed carefully on Spike's shoulder and Spike heaved a long-suffering sigh and got out another cigarette.

 _*Maybe I can poison the little sod - give him a smoke... And if I head toward a cemetery there's bound to be something wants to eat this Pan.*_ "That golden-haired lady could turn you inside out with a look. They're all witches. Matter of fact - go hide and leap out at them, they'd love that." Spike lit up and inhaled - turned his head and blew a lungful of smoke over Tink. Tink inhaled and his eyes went wide and he slithered helplessly off Spike's shoulder, coughing. 

Feeling a little better, Spike strode on.

"Tink? You're not poisoned, don't be silly! It's only a little smoke like the redskin's peace-pipe!" Peter's voice faded as Spike got further away and he felt in his coat again, finding his flask. He shook it - nearly full, thank Christ. He took a long drink and considered his options.

 _*First thing - get over to the house on Crawford and get my car.*_ Spike had parked it inside, right through the big French doors and over near the fireplace. Probably it was untouched and he had a good bit of dosh stashed under the spare tire - more than enough to get him the hell out of California. But not back to Dru. No. He was done with that mess for a while. Let her sulk and date outside her species - he'd find himself a nice bit of something and take a tour of the north. He hadn't been to New York or Boston in years and a cross-country trip sounded...

 _*Sounds bloody daft. You'll be dust in a week if you don't get that bloody chip out first. Or turned off.*_ Spike felt the wad of paper in his pocket, frowning. He'd have to sit down and translate the damn things. There was a good library in San Francisco whose former head librarian was now a vampire; after hours hours and good underground access. "San Francisco it is, then," he said aloud, and pulled up short when the tip of a dagger sliced through the air in front of him, narrowly missing his throat.

"Fucking _hell_!"

"I _told_ you we had to fly. You're coming to Neverland with me!" Peter looked furious, hovering in the air just above Spike. He looked _more_ than furious - he looked at the fine, frayed edge of control, his eyes black as pits and his whole, slender body shaking in its ragged tunic and breeches. For some reason, it gave Spike a distinct feeling of being at the calm center of a madly swirling storm. A center that was about to move on.

"Look, mate - Peter -"

"I know what they did to you. I heard that old man talking. They said you can't bite anymore and what good's a vampire that can't bite?" Peter's mouth had a malicious little twist to it and Spike felt his own mouth snarling open - let the change happen because _damned_ if he was going to take shite from a fucking _child's fairy tale_.

"Right. So I'm no use to _you_ against pirates or anything else. I'm going to San Francisco to get this bloody chip out and there's sod all you can do about it."

"Oh, there's something," Peter said, and his gaze flickered upward. Before Spike could turn, a fine drift of gold-colored dust showered over him. He sneezed. And his feet came off the ground.

 _*What in the name of -*_ "What in hell did you do, you little bastard!" Spike shouted, clawing at the air. Nothing much happened except that he listed a little sideways and drifted higher, right into the lower branches of a mimosa tree. The feathery pink blooms waved gently around him as he pushed at them, trying to force himself back down.

"Tink just blew some fairy dust over you is all. Now you can fly, and you're coming with _me_. Tink says the magic here won’t work there." And then Peter flew up, around, down - and a solid length of wood connected with Spike's jaw. "That's got it," Peter said, and then everything dissolved to static and a red-gold haze.

 

Spike lay still, listening. He could hear what sounded like leaves, or maybe waves - a constant susurrus all around him. He seemed to be lying on something - something that swayed and swung, like a hammock. The smell of the sea and of green leaves and damp earth was very strong. _*Am I on a ship? Feels like I'm flying - floating...*_ Spike opened his eyes.

Tree-tops were rushing past about a foot from his nose. Very _tall_ tree tops, with the ground flickering past between the limbs and leaves. Ground that was far too far away for comfort.

"Jesus _Christ_ -" Spike instinctively tried to stop himself - tried to _grab_ something and that was when he realized his hands were tied and he was being towed along like some sort of wheeled toy. Except in the air. Spike thrashed on the end of the rope, grateful at least that the sky he saw as he rotated was heavy and dull as lead. Low, thick clouds that seemed close enough to touch, although Spike had no desire to do so. He finally steadied himself so that he was skimming along more-or-less on his belly, only a little more upright. At the other end of the rope he could see Peter.

"Peter! You little bastard! Let me go!" Peter turned in mid-air, grinning wickedly. _*Oh, buggering **hell**. Wrong, wrong thing to say -*_ Peter let go of the rope.

Spike sank, toes and coat-edges brushing the trees and then hitting solidly and then - he rolled himself into a ball and braced for impact as something like a stick-and-leaf wall rose up in front of him. He hit - not too bad. Landed and rolled and smacked solidly into something much harder, making his head ring and a breath he didn't remember taking _oomph_ out of his lungs. _*Fucking hell -*_ Spike sat up slowly - wincing as he pushed with his hands. 

"Wow, that looked really - painful. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fucking _fine_ \- just kidnapped and tied up and dropped on a bloody _tree house_." Spike scanned the green-grey murk and finally spotted the person speaking. Another boy. "Who the hell are you?"

"Pan calls me Slightly. He says there always has to be a Slightly." The boy stirred - climbed down from his crude hammock and padded barefoot over to Spike. Tall, gangly, longish hair tangled and stuck full of leaves. Lean face and wide, dark eyes and - 

_*He's no boy. Fuck - what is this?*_ "Aren't you a little old to be in Neverland?" Spike asked, and waited for the slow dissolve to… To what? To the Watcher's sodding bathroom, or worse - an Initiative cell. The boy crouched in front of Spike and Spike caught that scent again. Blood and cake. But also a subtle, spicy musk: sweat and dirt and green, salt and woodsmoke. Nothing like the Watcher's fusty smells of dust and must and paper and tea, or the sharp stinks of disinfectants and drugs down in the cells. _*Not a dream, then. Or a hallucination.*_

"Your wrists are bleeding," the boy said. He was wearing what looked like hand-made trousers, clumsily stitched and cinched in tight at the waist with a leather belt. On top was the ragged remains of an undershirt, smudged and stained and held together by uneven stitches and worn patches of some other material. He pulled a knife out of the belt and carefully sawed through the rope around Spike's wrists, gingerly unwinding it. "He doesn't usually do it this tight - guess you pissed him off."

"Sod him." Spike examined his wrists, scowling, then he pushed himself to his feet. He'd crashed through a wall and hit the main trunk of the tree the strange little house was built in. The floor was branches lashed together, the walls more of the same tied to the denuded limbs. Broad, flat leaves from some other kind of tree had been fashioned into a sort of thatch. All of it swayed and creaked in the breeze and Spike thought with a shudder about the many possibilities of falling and impaling himself on a damn limb.

"So - um - _you're_ pretty old to be in Neverland, actually. Why'd Peter bring you here?" The boy - Spike couldn't bring himself to call this too-thin, doe eyed person a _man_ \- stood easily, slotting the knife back into its worn spot on his belt. He had scratches on his arms and the fading remains of bruises on his cheek and shoulder.

"He said some nonsense about the pirates always winning. Then he snuck up on me with that bloody fairy dust and knocked me unconscious. How do I get the hell out?"

"Of here? There's a ladder. You don't get out of Neverland. At least...nobody has since _I've_ been here."

Spike glared at the boy, feeling for his smokes. He lit up and the boy - _Slightly_ \- took a step forward, his eyes gone wide. 

"You probably shouldn't smoke in here. Tootles won't like it."

"Sod 'Tootles'. What do you mean, nobody gets out? Pan acted like he had to shanghai people here all the time."

"Well, yeah. He does." The boy licked his lips and took another step forward, gaze darting all around. "He does, but," his voice fell to a whisper, "but they don't exactly...go _home_ -"

"Slightly? That you?" a voice shrilled, and the boy blanched and jerked back - bit his lip and leaned in again, closer this time.

"My name's really Xander. I'm Xander," he husked, and then he backed off across the room and another boy came in.

 

"Peter says you're William the Bloody."

"I'm _Spike_. And you're Tootles, eh?" 

The slight, be-spectacled boy nodded once, pushing his glasses up and then wiping a hand down his ragged shirt front, as if to straighten a tie he no longer wore. He was younger than Xander by at least five years – maybe more. "He said you're William the Bloody and he said you're to help us with the pirates. Hook is up to something bad."

"I don't give a fuck about Hook, little munchy, _or_ about Pan -"

"It's _in the book_ ," Tootles hissed, his eyes narrowing behind his smudged glasses and Spike growled, willing his face to stay human for the moment. "We beat Hook! We beat all of them! It's how it _is_!" Tootles darted to a roughly-made chest and fumbled a key from his pocket - opened the chest and drew out a cloth wrapped object. He held it reverently, stroking the worn fabric. "It's all here -"

"It's a bad bloody play by a queer little man who's been dead for sixty years or more. It's _shite_ and I'm not fighting anybody for you _or_ Pan." 

Tootles looked up, blinking, and his face took on a hard look, eyes narrowing and his mouth pursing tight. "We'll see what Peter has to say."

"Bloody bully for you," Spike snapped. He took a hard breath, sucking in smoke and blowing it out at Tootles, who glared harder. _*Need to get the fuck out of here. Starting to lose it.*_ "Here, you!" Spike ducked around Tootles and hauled Slightly - no, _Xander_ \- out of his corner, wringing a startled gasp from him. "Show me how to get the hell down from here."

"Uh, I -" Xander pushed at the hand Spike had twisted into the rotting material of his shirt, darting glances at Tootles. "I don't -"

"Do as you're fucking _told_ or I'll wind your guts out on a stick," Spike hissed, letting the human mask go at last and Xander went white.

"Oh _God_ , you're - you're a v-v-"

"Vampire. Got it in one." Spike finished his cigarette - crushed out the cherry against a bit of handy trunk and flicked the butt away into the darkness under Xander's hammock. "You know vamps?"

Xander gulped, both hands clawing at Spike's now, and Spike shook him a little. "Stop! I - know vamps, I know – S-Sunnydale...there was - a girl -"

 _*Fuck. Makes sense, though. Fucking Hellmouth...*_ "A girl, eh? I have girls for afters. Sweet little blondes and redheads when I'm all through with my tea." 

Xander's pallor took on a greenish cast and he started to struggle in earnest, scent of fear and despair coming off him in waves. " _No_! No, they – they're not -"

"Just a dream you had once, Slightly. Isn't that right?" Peter there, quite suddenly. Coming up through a hole in the floor, his eyes glimmering in the dimness. Touching down lightly beside Spike and Xander, his mouth set in a hard little smile. "You told me all about your dreams when you first arrived here - we played Slayer and Vampire, remember?" Xander nodded spastically, his struggles dying now as he looked between Peter and Spike. His hands were cold and sweat-damp on Spike's. "But it's just a dream."

"But - but - he's a - he's one!"

"Oh, I know. But _you_ never fought vampires, Slightly! You never knew a chosen girl or a _witch_. That's foolish. You were just a plain boy – nothing special. But now that you're here –" Peter smiled, his hand going out to touch Xander's side. "Now you fight pirates and redskins, and you killed a bear!" Xander flinched. His shirt was torn and Spike could see the end of a still-livid scar on Xander's thin ribs. "You ran away when you were small and the fairies brought you here and all the rest are just dreams! You've always been here, Slightly," Peter said, and his voice dropped. Softly now, he took a step closer to Xander and looked up at him, smile gone and his eyes holding a look of implacability. 

"You'll always _be_ here." Peter reached up and put his hand on the back of Xander's neck, stroking through the thick, dark hair. Spike felt the shiver go all through Xander – felt the aura of menace that was like a knife pressed to the throat. "No one leaves Neverland."

Xander stared at Peter - glanced once at Spike, his eyes dilated and wide with panic. Then he wrenched away hard enough to tear his shirt, stepping back from the both of them and plucking at the tatters that now hung from his shoulders, trying to draw them together. "I'm - I don't want to - leave. I'm going to - going -"

"Going nowhere. We're having a feast!" Peter kicked into the air, smiling again - grinning. "Tootles! Light the lamps and call the lost boys! We're feasting in honor of William the Bloody, pirate-killer and redskin hunter! Our newest lost boy!" Peter crowed, head back and throat extended and Spike resisted the urge to lunge for it and tear that column of golden-white out with his fangs.

But he hesitated, because... It fucking _hurt_ and he didn't want to fail - be brought to his knees - in front of these fucking _children_. He needed to test the chip when no one would notice. _*Fucking Neverland…maybe they don't count? What'd he say – the magic there won't work here… Maybe…*_ Spike snarled to himself. _*Bloody soldiers...gut them all...*_

Tootles was jumping up and down, crowing right back and Xander slipped away into the far side of the house, moving among slap-dash chairs and a rickety table. Setting places with leaves and carved platters and Spike snorted in exasperation and fumbled for another cigarette. At least he wasn't in a fucking bathtub anymore. Or having his bloody soul crammed down his throat. Go along with it, for now. Make his move when he knew more - had the lay of the land.

A little swarm of lights - three mauve, two blue and one white - fluttered in through a skylight of sorts and buzzed around Spike, darting in for touches. The blue ones were smooth and sexless and more daring than the lone female, and one mauve one - Tink, Spike presumed - settled for a moment on his shoulder, little mouth and fingers nipping at Spike's ear. Then they were gone. Spike sighed. Neverland was going to be a fucking pain in his arse.

 

The feast was - bizarre. Six more boys came - Nibs, Curly, John, Michael and the Twins, who were nothing like twins at all. And a girl, sullen and silent. Wendy. They along with Tootles and Xander - Spike had decided to call him that instead, to irritate Peter - and Pan himself sat down at the table and ate...nothing. Peter described a huge feast of mangos and breadfruit, fish and honey and roasted bear and all manner of delicacies. But there was nothing. They all pretended to eat from empty plates - drink from empty cups - with a desperate sort of look on their thin faces. Except for Wendy, who crossed her arms and scowled and stared at Spike who was sitting up in Xander's hammock, smoking.

"Why isn't the new...boy eating with us, Peter?" one of the twins asked - the black one. 

Peter made a show of chewing and swallowing a mouth full of air. "Because - he's not a _real_ boy. He's something else. He's going to help us defeat the pirates once and for all!" A ragged cheer went up, and then the other twin - an Asian-looking boy with a missing front tooth - looked up from his plate. 

"If he's not real, then - what is he? Is he a - a spook?"

"No -" Pan said, and Xander interrupted him.

"No - he's something much worse." 

Peter sent a scowl Xander's way. "He's _better_. Boys - look at him! With him, we're going to send Hook down to Davey Jones' locker! He's a _vampire_!" The boys cheered again but now the looks they sent Spike were speculative and a little wary and Spike deliberately let his eyes gleam golden in the dusky half-light of the tree house. 

"Vampires ain't real," Wendy said, glaring at Spike, and Peter smiled.

"Of course they are, Wendy! We've played vampires before. And William the Bloody is a vampire! I heard this old man talking about him. They were talking about how terrible and evil he was - all the killing he'd done!"

"Who was talking?" Xander asked, and Peter shrugged.

"I don't know - this old man with glasses and these three girls. No - four girls. I wanted the _quiet_ blonde one for our mother since _this_ mother won't do the Spring cleaning."

"It ain't Spring," the girl said, narrowing dark eyes at Peter. She sounded East Coast - was black, with her hair cropped in a ragged afro that stuck out around her face like a fuzzy corona. She looked maybe fifteen, with fairly large breasts all but spilling out of a too-small top. The top, Spike realized with a little jolt, that she'd probably been kidnapped in. It was something a younger girl would wear; pink and white with little strawberries and it strained across her chest and didn't meet the waist of her too-small jeans. Spike figured he knew why Peter wanted a new Wendy. This one was too...grown up. _All_ of them were. Xander looked the oldest – maybe eighteen – but the youngest was past puberty and all of them taller than Pan. 

_*No wonder he thins them out so often. Grown-ups in Neverland…*_

"I say it _is_ ," Peter hissed, standing up, his hand on his knife hilt. All the boys tensed and Wendy looked nervous - but still pissed off. "And if I say it's Spring, then _you_ do the Spring cleaning!"

"I _ain't_ -" Wendy was cut short by Tink darting madly into the room, shrilling something at Peter.

"What is it, Tink? Oh!" 

"Peter, what is it?" Tootles asked, eyes bright, and Peter turned to him with a grin, bouncing up out of his chair and hovering several inches above it. 

"It's Hook! He's captured Tiger Lily! Tink says they're rowing her out to Marooner's Rock!" Tink flew in wild loops and figure eights around Peter's head, tinkling wildly.

"We must save her!" Tootles cried, and Peter crowed loud and long.

"Come on, boys; get your bows and arrows! We'll lure them into the rocks and see them drown! And when we save Tiger Lily and bring her back to her camp, the redskins will want us to feast with them!"

The cheer that rang out was stronger this time - more _real_ \- and Spike wondered why. The boys scrambled up, diving into the corners and shadows and coming out with weapons in their hands. Knives and bows and arrows, a long bone club for Tootles and a staff for Xander in addition to a bow and his knife. He was grinning. Wendy was looking pissed. She got up and stomped away - swung herself out and up, and Spike could just see her through a crack, crossing a rope bridge to another, smaller house.

As the boys stomped and danced around Peter, crowing and shouting, Spike grabbed Xander by the scruff and dragged him into the darkest corner.

"Why in bloody hell is everybody so fucking excited about this Tiger Lily?"

Xander shivered under his hand, twisting a little but not trying to get away very hard. "If we save her and smoke the peace pipe with the redskins they'll invite us to feast with them." Xander's eyes were bright - the red in his cheeks hectic and almost fevered looking. "The redskins have _real_ food."

 

They tumbled down out of the tree-house on a rope ladder, chattering and whooping and making a ruckus. Peter dove down head first, darting like a swallow. It was darker there on the forest floor - darker and damper and thick with scents and sounds. Once the boys were all down they quieted, forming a line.

"We go single-file so they can't tell how many," Xander said, his voice hushed but his eyes still dancing with excitement. Spike watched them orient themselves and creep away into the dim vault of mossy green. He lingered for a moment, doing his own internal check of sun and north and _here_. Tink stayed with him, settling nervously on his shoulder and chittering into his ear, soft sounds that were almost like words. Tink's tiny hands were warm on the curve of Spike's ear and he didn't brush the fairy away, this time.

A half-hour's fast walk brought them to the thinning edge of the forest, the ground becoming spongy underfoot. The steady throb of the tide was laced with the scream of warring gulls and the splashing of oars - the hollow _thunk_ when one collided with hollow wood. Spike stood in the shade of the trees, watching.

 _*Almost didn't believe this but...bloody hell, look at that...* Real_ long boat. Real sailors - _pirates_ \- in all their magpie finery. Something to set the heart of any ten-year-old boy pounding with wild excitement. But Spike hadn't been ten in a century and a half. He watched two pirates manhandle a bound girl onto a weed-slick rock, laughing. Then they settled back into the boat, ten men altogether pulling at the oars and a younger one - nearly a boy - at the tiller.

"We'll go 'round to the Claw and call the mermaids - they'll drive them into the rocks and we'll take them down!" Peter whispered, and the boys nodded agreement. They slipped back into the trees, heading rightward toward a curling line of jagged-looking rocks that were tumbled out into the surf like the skeleton of some long-dead thing. The long boat, fighting the tide, surged up and splashed down, perilously near swamping, it seemed.

Spike finished his cigarette and followed the boys, watching Pan flit back and forth above them like a demented dragonfly. Then suddenly he flew straight up and disappeared. Tink, who'd been silent the whole time made a little noise that sounded – angry. He leapt off Spike's shoulder and darted away into the forest, disappearing.

"We wait here until we hear the signal," Tootles said, pushing up his glasses. The boys settled in a ragged semi-circle in the sparse brush, panting. The soil here was half sand, scattered with dead fronds and bits of sea-silvered wood. Spike leaned against a palm, hands in his pockets. The boys' excitement had ebbed during the walk – ebbed and changed and now…

 _They're afraid_ , Spike saw. Shaking with it - green with it. The 'twins' were leaning into each other, the dark one muttering something. Spike tipped his head a little, focusing.

" _It'll be okay, we'll be okay, just stay out of the water, keep your guard up, don't be afraid..._ "

 _*Bloody hell. Little boys playing at war...*_ His gaze fell on Xander's back - bare, now, since he'd stripped his ruined shirt off along the trail somewhere. Deeply tanned, muscled despite his thinness and scarred, in a random scatter of lines and curls and knots. An interesting back.

Spike heard a strange, high trilling and looked out into the bay again – caught sight of Peter crouching in the lee of a rock far to the point of the 'Claw', his face down near the water. Something just there under the surface that caused a rippling bow-shock of water to surge up as it swam toward the long boat.

More than one wave converging, and suddenly the water all around the boat exploded upward, a foaming sheet of seething white. The men on board were shouting – wood splintering with a sharp _crack crack crack_. The boys flinched and huddled tighter, gazes glued to the scene.

Out of the swirling mess came struggling figures: the pirates, swimming hard for the jagged, laval rocks that spilled into the turquoise sea. "C'mon, men! Don't look back!" one shouted, bobbing. 

"Bill! Bill, I caa-an't!" The boy who'd sat at the tiller was floundering badly, his movements jerky – blood in his hair. His voice rose high and shrill and hysterical. "Jukes! Something's got me – _Juukesss_!" He went down with a scream, thrashing, and the water bubbled and foamed where he'd been. A moment later it foamed up red and the faint scent of blood came to Spike on the air, making him growl softly.

"It's the mermaids –" one of the boys muttered, and they all shifted uneasily. The pirates were swimming madly now, putting a good distance between themselves and the threshing, heaving spot of blood-tainted water that was all that was left of the tiller-boy. The one that had urged them on – Bill Jukes, it seemed – was hauling himself higher up the strand, stumbling and nearly falling on submerged rocks. His bare arms were blue-grey with tattoos.

Peter swooped out of the canopy above the boys in an explosion of leaves and twigs and the boys dove flat, fists curling spastically around their weapons. "C'mon, men! Now's the time to strike! They've lost their courage and their wind in the sea and they're bruised from the rocks – go, go!"

"Charge!" Tootles yelled, waving his club in the air, his voice high and thin. The boys scrambled up and ran, screaming, and Peter dove after them, his knife flashing dully in the heavy air. The low clouds - that had boiled and streamed overhead all day - now seemed to curl downwards, darker and more threatening, thick with rain.

The boys dashed madly over the sand and into the rocks, slowing as the water got deeper. The pirates struggled closer to shore, drawing long knives from boots and belts. 

_*Now we'll see. Now we'll see just how these boys do. If they've any stomach for it at all...*_ Michael struck first, sending a wobbly arrow into the shoulder of Bill Jukes who roared and splashed toward him. Michael dropped his bow and pulled his own knife and they fell to slashing at each other, stumbling in the rocky surf. Nibs and Curly were hacking at another pirate who'd had the misfortune to fall and crack his head and John and Tootles were edging in circles around the biggest one, ducking slashes from his cutlass.

Spike strolled down the beach, fishing out a cigarette and lighting up – watching the fight. Here the beach was a mix of rock and sand, some as small as a fist, some as big as a car. The bed seemed to shelve away steeply, the waves curling under with a snarling sort of noise as they crested. It made the fighting brutal and clumsy – agonizingly slow. It was, Spike supposed, ugly. He took a long breath of the mingled stinks of fear and sweat and blood and grinned, letting his other face forward.

Peter dove down from the air, his knife slitting a throat and piercing a back, crowing ecstatically. The water surged and splashed and another pirate shrieked and was dragged backwards, clawing madly at the rocks. The twins were down, the black one with a bleeding head, the Asian one twisted along the rocks like beached kelp, blood ribboning out from his side and his mouth open - his hands lax. Xander was standing up on a high rock sending arrow after arrow down, feathering three of the pirates before a skinny little one with an eye-patch caught Xander's arm with a rock, sending his bow flying. Spike watched Xander jump down into thigh-deep water, staff held ready. But it was clear the rock had bruised him badly, affecting his grip. Despite the damage he was landing a few blows - fending the knife-wielding pirate off until something in the water grabbed his ankle and he went down with a yell.

"Peter! Peter, tell her to let go!" Xander's voice was half-strangled with sea water, shrill with fear. The pirate was edging closer, knife raised to strike. " _Peteeer!_ "

"She's just playing!" Peter yelled back, laughing. But he swooped over, circling – trilled again, lips pursed, and Xander wrenched himself away from invisible hands, splashing and reeling up the beach. The pirate he'd been fighting had leapt away when the mermaid had loosened her grip, his eye warily on the water. Spike decided that now was as good a time as any. Ignoring the melees going on all around, he slunk around a tallish jumble of kelp-hung rocks, carefully keeping his feet dry. Coming around the other side, directly in the path of the pirate who, it seemed, had decided to run for it. The man caught sight of him and drew breath to scream and Spike pounced.

"Right. Let's see if you taste better than you smell," he murmured, wrenching the man around and pulling his head sideways. The man was stunned – gasping in short, wheezing breaths, his knife clattering away between the rocks. Spike licked his lips and put his mouth on the sea-filmed skin and bit. 

The blood hitting the back of this throat was like an orgasm, rushing cramp of heat and shivering tingles and Spike drank his fill, shuddering – let the husk fall away, reeling a little. He licked his lips, savoring the salt and iron and burnt-sugar flavor that lingered in his mouth. _*It worked it worked it worked…*_

"I remember you…oh _god_ , I remember you…" Xander stood there, his leg skeining blood into the rippling water, his staff gripped in a white-knuckled hand. His eyes were huge. "I – remember – you were going to…going to kill –"

"And I still might." Spike licked at the corner of his mouth – lifted his hand and wiped a warm drop away with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth. Xander blanched – looked around as if he would call someone. "He brought me here for a _reason_ , boy. And you've just seen it."

"I know h-how to kill your kind," Xander whispered, his voice gone husky and rough and Spike leapt from rock to rock – landed close enough to feel the heat pulsing off Xander in waves. 

"And I know how to kill _yours_. So we're even." Spike shook his head, letting the demon go – watched Xander lick his mouth and swallow, panting. 

"Nibs! Behind you!" someone screamed, and Xander jerked, turning and scanning the inlet wildly. Most of the pirates were down – half the boys or more. Pan was driving a short, fat pirate into deeper water, dagger flickering. The only other pirate left standing was facing off with Nibs, who was staggering a little, done in. The pirate kicked out, snapping Nibs' knee like kindling and Nibs went down screaming. Xander started to run as best he could.

"Too bloody late, boy," Spike muttered, picking his way up the rocks – back to dry land. The pirate spun behind Nibs – grabbed a handful of hair and jerked Nibs' head back.

" _Noo_!" Xander lunged, staff-end driving for the pirate's chest. The pirate's knife flashed, arcing through the air – across Nibs' throat. The jet of blood sliced across Xander as if he, too, had been cut and the pirate pushed the spasming body to the ground. Xander's staff flew up and then came down onto the pirate's skull, cracking report like a gun-shot. The pirate fell, his eyes rolling up sightlessly white. Xander stared at him for a moment and then brought the staff down again. And again. 

He didn't stop for a while.

 

"What are you lot doing back here?" Spike growled, defeated in his search for a bit of quiet. Xander and the black twin jerked around guiltily. 

"We're not –"

"You shut up – leave 'em alone," Wendy said, stepping out of the shadows. Her eyes were red and she had a blanket wrapped around her, up over her head like a hood. It was one of the striped ones from the 'redskin' camp.

"Why are you lot lurking around? I thought you'd be having your victory feast." Spike tipped his head toward the noises of the camp – chanting and drumming, some strained laughter. Food-smells, but nobody seemed to be eating much.

"Some victory," Xander muttered, his voice cracking. "More like the end of _Platoon_."

"Nate's _dead_ ," Wendy whispered, and sniffed hard. The black twin shuffled around and put his arm around her and they all three stared at Spike. "Did you get one?"

"One what?" Spike asked. "Who's Nate?"

" _Nate_. He – my – the other twin," the black twin said, his voice rasping. His eyes were too dark – pupils too big. Concussion, probably. There was still blood, dried black, in a messy smear over his temple. The drizzle that had started up not long after the fight had spangled in his hair, diamante drops in the flickering light from the fire.

"He got one, yeah. Got a pirate," Xander said, and Wendy nodded slowly.

"Good for you, then. Fuckers." She blinked up at the blank, cloud-choked sky, tears streaking down her cheeks in sudden silver lines. "I gotta – gotta go back. The Wendy's not _allowed_ at the feasts."

"I'm comin' with you," the black twin said, his arm tightening, and Wendy nodded. 

"Xander?"

"No, I – I need to stay. Tootles –"

"Yeah, a'ight." Wendy leaned forward kissed his cheek softly. "I'll… I'll have the book ready for Nate and Simon." 

"Thanks. Thanks, Roxy."

"C'mon," the black twin muttered and the two slipped away into the darkness. 

Xander let out a long breath, gingerly rubbing his arm. There was a bruise there, red-purple with a lurid black heart. From where the pirate had thrown the rock. "Is he – out there?" Xander asked, gesturing toward the tall, black shapes of the tepees, stark against the firelight.

"Who – Pan? Still having his peace pipe, last I saw." Spike drew out a cigarette and watched Xander slump a little. He looked exhausted – raw about the eyes. Smelled of tears and blood and sand. "What's this book?"

Xander flinched a little – shrugged finally, his fingers settling on the knife-hilt at his hip. Automatic gesture that meant nothing at all. "It's just…it's a list. All the ones that…die. Their real names." Xander looked up sharply at a sudden noise but it was just Tink, circling in from the trees. The fairy hovered in front of Xander for a moment and then darted forward – kissed his forehead. 

"Thanks, Tink," Xander whispered. He sighed and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth – looked back at Spike. "I'm the Slightly. It's the Slightly's job to keep the book. If…if I go home I have to take it with me so…they'll know. So nobody'll forget."

"Huh," Spike said, smoking. Leaning away from Tink's too-close form and then huffing out a resigned breath when the fairy settled on his shoulder. 

"There's a book for the Wendys, too. They don't…die so much. A lot of them are over at the town -"

"There's a town?" Spike asked, astonished, and Xander looked surprised. 

"Well, yeah. Where do you think the pirates get their stuff, 7-11? The tribe trades with them too – they bring in skins and meat and the town gives them flour and stuff. They can't farm up here." Xander slouched over to the edge of the woods, looking out. Just beyond the thin fringe were the sloping, granite edges of the tall promontory where the camp was situated. The sea on three sides and a narrow, slotted trail coming up. Highly defensible but also easy to get trapped. Spike wouldn't have made it his first choice.

"Where's the town?"

Xander shrugged again, staring out into the drizzling dark. His pants had never really dried from his dip in the sea and they clung to him, tattered at the hem. His fingers idly brushed over and over the worn bone hilt of his knife. "Tink can show you. We're not allowed. They were – together. You know?"

"Who?" Spike stepped up behind Xander, studying his profile in the dim, magenta glow that Tink gave off. Following the curving slope of throat and shoulder – seeing the ruddy glints in the too-long, salt-clotted hair.

"Roxy and the – Roxy and Nate and Anthony. They're…in love."

"Lovers," Spike murmured and Xander nodded, blinking slowly. 

"Pan doesn't know. He doesn't…understand it. He killed the last Wendy when he found her and – and a John. His name was Thomas." Xander shivered – closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. He looked cold, the drizzle condensing on his naked shoulders. "He gave her to the mermaids. If the Wendy gets too old or – or pisses him off he gives 'em to the mermaids so they run away to the town before he can. Some went to the pirates. _They_ don't last long." Xander turned around and looked at Spike, his wide, dark eyes full of bitterness – shuttered. "He gives us lost boys to the pirates, too. Or picks a fight with somebody, or has a bear hunt. I'm – getting too old. He's going to send me off soon. Maybe after we beat the pirates."

Spike took a slow drag off his cigarette. "Why don't you just run, then? Go to the town yourself? Or hell – get off this bloody island and go home? Can't you just – fly home?" Tink made a little noise, not quite a word, tugging at Spike's coat-collar. Spike ignored him.

Xander gave a strange little laugh. "'Cause it's in the book? They've tried – a lot of them have. The town gives us _back_ if we try to hide there. Peter's burned it down before. Or set the pirates on them. This is _his_ place. He controls who comes in and who gets out. He controls…everything." Xander's voice wobbled and he shut his mouth hard – took a moment to just breathe, not quite looking at Spike. Spike inhaled the scent of his misery and his fear and wanted to put his mouth just _there_ , where the bone of Xander's shoulder pushed up against his caramel skin. Xander rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"The tribe says Hook got out – got away. The book says he died. Either way, Peter brought him back but..." Xander shook his head – made a little gesture with his hand. "He came back wrong. He's…worse, they say. Used to he'd let you be a pirate – let you win free, if you wanted to try. Now they – _he_ …" Xander shook his head. "It's not the same. Wasn't there…I remember a movie. I think…" Xander pushed at his hair, wincing when his fingers hit tangles. "Burying a kid in a – a pet cemetery and he came back all – crazy. That's what Hook's like, now."

There was a sudden escalation of noise from the camp and Xander's gaze darted that way. "I gotta go. Peter's gonna expect me – there's gonna be speeches and stuff. And the food…" He looked momentarily happier at the thought. He took two fast steps toward the camp and then turned around. "You better come too. They make this – beer? Kind of. From birch bark. It's okay – kind of sweet. It…helps." 

"In a minute," Spike said, and Xander nodded.

"I used to like the movie, you know?" Xander said softly. He turned and walked swiftly away, limping on the leg the mermaid had savaged. The redskins – the tribe – had cleaned it and bandaged it, touching swiftly and gently. They'd tended to the other wounded too. And laid out the dead Nibs and twin – Nate – under a little hide and stick shelter, covering them with the inevitable striped blankets. Spike wondered if there would be a burial.

 _*This place is sodding insane. That bloody **Pan** is… But I can fight. Fight **him** , the little bastard.*_ Spike finished his cigarette and tossed the butt away. _*Wonder about this Hook…and the town. Guess I'll have to go calling. Pity I didn't bring my cards.*_ He laughed mirthlessly to himself and Tink murmured in his ear, press of a tiny, warm hand to the skin just behind – barely-there tug on a handful of hair. "Let's go get drunk, Tink, want to?" 

Spike was pretty sure Tink said yes.

 

In the morning – a morning as grey and dark as the previous day had been – Peter was gone. Gone back out to the world, Xander said, to find another twin, another Nibs. Xander's eyes were dark-circled and sunken and he didn't look like he'd slept at all. The rest of the boys looked little better, especially Curly, who had gotten sliced across the ribs with a cutlass, and John, who had taken some hard hits. He was the smallest of all the boys and his puffy, bruised face and split knuckles were livid in the watery morning light. They were all, Indians and boys alike, queuing for breakfast.

Spike settled beside Xander on the worn-smooth surface of a fallen tree trunk. The boy was eating some sort of stew with a large heel of bread, scooping up the chunks of meat and gravy with it. His bandage looked fresh. Spike took out his cigarettes and gloomily surveyed them – put them back. Strict rationing from now on.

 _*Bugger.*_ "So – how long's it usually take him to find some new boys?" Spike asked.

Xander shrugged – swallowed. "Depends. If he goes right out and finds them first thing, then a day or so. But sometimes he forgets and then – it's weeks. Tiger Lily –" Xander gestured with his bowl. "She told me one time it was almost five years."

"Years?" Spike looked over where Xander had gestured, studying the girl that they had rescued the day before. Slim and olive-skinned, with two long, black braids and an impressive black eye. She was moving wincingly across the cleared area around the big fire, wrapped in a skin. Spike could smell blood on her, and a woodsy sort of green smell which was the town-made soap they all used. She settled next to an older, red-headed woman on a spread-out fur and took a cup of something hot. "That woman there – she doesn't look like an Indian."

"She is, though. Some of them go into town for more than supplies. And the pirates…" Xander stopped talking and ate for a moment, his face flushing. But it was anger Spike scented on him, not embarrassment. 

"Pirates don't care if you're willing, eh?" Spike said, and Xander flashed him an agonized look, the anger edged with something else now. Fear, maybe. 

"They…don't," Xander said, soft. He put his bowl down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth – leaned back a little and picked up a water skin from the ground behind them and drank. "Maybe it'll be years, this time," he muttered, and Spike contemplated that for a moment.

"How is it he forgets?"

Xander shrugged again – took a deep breath and seemed to push all his emotion aside, at least for a moment. "He did in the book, too. Forgot about Wendy and them when he was bringing them to Neverland, and forgot about coming back for Wendy to do the spring cleaning. He's Loony Tunes, and -" Xander made an odd little noise. "That's all, folks!"

"You're not wound so tight yourself," Spike said, looking at him, and Xander shot him a quick grin. "You think if you got Tink to put some of that dust on you, you could just fly out of here?" Spike said, and Xander looked up from poking at his bandage, his eyes shadowed. 

"I asked Tink to do that when I first got here and he did but… I couldn't _go_ anywhere. I flew the same way we came in but – it just kept looping around. It was like...like _Pleasantville_ – you know? 'The end of Main Street is just the beginning.'"

 _*What in bloody hell does **that** mean?*_ "So Peter has to want you to go?"

"Or be with you, I'm not sure. I don't think anybody's ever got out that way."

Michael had come out of one of the tepees and was walking slowly toward the central fire, holding his head. _*A little too much of that bloody awful birch beer. Must have a hollow sodding leg, to put that much away.*_ Michael slumped down on the other side of the red-headed woman, helping himself to a tin cup and some kind of tea. It smelled too floral for Spike's taste.

"Somebody must have made it out of this place, though," Spike muttered. "There's got to be some fucking way _off_ this bloody island!" Xander jerked a little, startled by Spike's outburst. Spike was a little startled himself. 

"You leave when you die, okay? I've been trying for…for a long…time to get off and –"

"You don't know _what_ you've bloody done," Spike snarled, angry and tired and pushing down _hard_ on the tiny quiver of panic that wanted to well up and smother him. The same panic he'd felt when he'd figured out what the soldier's had done to him. "You don't even know how fucking long you've been here. Maybe it _was_ all a dream, yeah? Nothing but a sodding dream." 

Xander's eyes had gone wide – his mouth thin and bloodless as he'd clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek working under the skin. His bowl thumped softly to the grass. "It wasn't a dream. I'm not _from_ here, my name's – my name's Xander –" 

Spike sneered. "You're the _Slightly_. Said it yourself. Bet you never even had a family." He snatched out smokes and lighter and lit up _*Sod rationing.*_ Pulled smoke hard and fast into his lungs and hissed, the demon surging up, when Xander's grabbed the lapel of his coat, fist tight on the leather.

"You just _shut up_ , you hear me?" Xander's voice was breathless and thin with fright. "I used to live in Sunnydale, California and my – my best friends were Willow and Buffy! It _wasn't_ a dream you undead _fuck_. Buffy kicked your ass! I _remember_!"

Spike wrenched away from him – clamped his own hand tight on the back of Xander's neck and jerked him close, pressing his forehead to Xander's and letting him _feel_ the difference. "Doesn't matter if you remember them or not, _Slightly_. They've forgotten all about you. Was there, wasn't I? And they didn't mention you one – fucking – time."

Xander twisted out of Spike's grip with a wordless cry, pushing away so hard he fell off the log and sprawled there at Spike's feet. He was panting – shaking – two high spots of color in his cheeks and his eyes suspiciously bright. "F- _fuck_ you! I'm not Slightly, I'm _Xander_." He pushed to his feet and ran. 

Growling, Spike stood up and stalked to the fire – snatched up a gourd from the previous night and drained it of its too-sweet, too-thin beer. Tiger Lily was glaring up at him – Michael and Curly were, too – all of them were, and Spike glared back. "What the fuck do _you_ lot want?"

Curly struggled to his feet, bandaged ribs showing a stain of blood coming through. "Tell him you're sorry," he said, pushing decidedly lank hair back off his forehead. 

"Fuck that," Spike said, and Curly licked his lips and stepped up close to Spike. Reeking of blood and birch beer and fear. He was probably sixteen.

"Xander told us last night. Told us _everything_ about where he lived before. Told us about the Slayer and what you are." Curly glanced at Michael, who nodded. "And – he told us how to – to kill your kind."

"Did he? Did he tell you _all_ about vampires, then? Did he tell you I can snap your bloody neck in about three seconds?"

"Shut up," Michael said, pushing between them. "Just shut up! Peter's never brought back a grown up before. And never – never somebody that wasn't human. It's changing – things are changing –"

"And Xander's the _Slightly_. Slightly always remembers more about the world," Curly said. "He _remembers_ and we don't and if you make him forget then – then we'll forget."

"Just tell him you're sorry. Tell him he's Xander. Don't let him forget," John said, arm curved around his ribs and his lip split open – gash in his hairline that was swollen and crusted with dried blood. 

"What makes you think I give a bloody _damn_ about any of you?" Spike snapped, and the red-haired woman finally stood up, putting a gentle hand on John's thin shoulder. She exuded a solemn, quiet power that made Spike think uncomfortably of witches. Blonde ones.

"You want to leave, don't you? If everyone forgets – you will too. You'll die here, vampire, just like the rest of us."

"He said nobody's ever left," Spike said slowly, letting the demon go at last – flicking his cigarette butt into the fire.

"He's wrong. Hook did."

"Hook _died_."

"Did he now?" the woman said, and then put out her hand – tugged Tiger Lily to her feet and laid her arm gently over the girl's shoulders. "That's what they say – but who really knows? He was gone. You need to find Xander." She and Tiger Lily both turned away, walking slowly toward the tepees.

"Just find him, please? Don't let him forget," John said. He reached out, like he wanted to touch Spike's arm and Spike narrowed his eyes at him. John's hand wavered and then fell back to his side. "Just - _please_ -?"

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. John grinned – glanced up, and a moment later Tink was settling lightly onto Spike's shoulder, waft of bee balm and may-apple. Tink chattered and Spike caught…something. A word or two. ' _Please'_ , maybe. Maybe a name. Tink launched himself into the air and hovered before Spike, gesturing, and Curly smiled.

"Tink'll show you the way. Just – tell him –"

"Yeah, yeah, I sodding well know." Spike glared after the red-head. "Who's that woman, then? She the local witch?"

"She used to be a Tiger Lily." 

"Course she did." _*Bloody island, full of ghosts…*_ "All right. Never get any peace, will I?" Tink darted away, beckoning, and Spike stomped after him.

 

Xander was down near the shore – a boat-landing, apparently, the beach scattered with bark canoes and racks of drying nets. Spike followed the solid _thwack thwack thwack_ of wood striking wood more easily than Tink's erratic, hummingbird flight. When Xander came into view, Spike finally saw the reason for all the noise. Xander had a long branch in his hands and was systematically decimating a half-rotten, lightning struck tree. Spike came to a stop in the heavy shadows of the trail, watching. 

Xander was breathing hard, his skin oiled with a fine sheen of sweat. His clawed leg was bleeding a little through the bandage. A steady breeze came in off the sea, doing nothing to dispel the low, leaden clouds that bulked to the horizon. Spike lifted his head, taking in a long breath. Xander smelled of iron and salt and something savory-sweet – he smelled _alive_ , and it made Spike's mouth water. He watched the flex and shift of muscles under the scarred skin of Xander's back as he lifted the branch – brought it down and around, again and again. Spike wanted to bite into him – wanted to feel the weight of his fangs sheering through that salty, dusky flesh.

 _*Don't have time for that... Need to get out of this bloody place.*_ Spike wasn't sure if getting out – if _any_ of it – really hinged on Xander being himself or not. But one hundred years with Dru had taught him one thing, for sure: you can never know all the rules. _*Figured Dru out, most times. I can figure out this little boy…*_ "Think you've killed it right proper, mate," Spike said, stepping out onto the sloping, pebbled beach and Xander whirled around, branch up and ready. Face flushed – hair in lank strings across his face. And tears. _*Christ…*_

" _Fuck you_! Get away from me."

"C'mon now, boy – don't be like that."

"Be like _what_?" Xander barked, his voice rough – thickened with emotion. He strode straight at Spike, branch raised and Spike hopped back with a curse when the end came whistling through the air, narrowly missing him. "I know how to fucking kill you and I _will_ kill you, bastard!"

"You'll try, I suppose," Spike said and let the demon slip out. Xander's eyes went hot and narrow with rage and then he attacked. Spike grinned, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet – relaxing into the familiar rhythm of a fight. Turn and duck, reach and swing. Pulling the punches or kicks that would have shattered bone – surprised and pleased when Xander got in a few good hits. Made Spike's lip bleed – made his ribs ache. But Xander was already on the fine, fraying edge of himself. Was already skidding down the slope of burn out, his adrenalin flagging and his injured leg giving out under him once and then twice and then Spike kicked it and he was down, on his back – branch skidding away. 

Spike went down too – knees on either side of heaving ribs, his hand loosely over Xander's throat. Xander fought on, his broken nails digging into Spike's wrist, his fist flailing blindly at Spike's face. Spike just grabbed and held on – rode out the cursing and the wild-bronco bucking until Xander lay still, panting. Still crying, face wet and eyes wide and blood on his mouth. 

_*That's right. Get it all out. Settle yourself, now – got things to do.*_ "You done?" Spike asked, and Xander worked his mouth, like he was going to spit. Spike let his fingers tighten just a little. "I wouldn't, boy."

"Let me up."

"Maybe. If you're nice." 

The noise Xander made was choked – a little wheezy, and Spike eased back, fingertips stroking lightly over the skittering pulse, Xander's trapped wrist flexing under his other hand. "I'm _not_ nice. I'm not – not anything, I'm –"

"You're Xander. Xander Harris. You used to live in Sunnydale sodding California and you used to know a Slayer." Spike almost laughed at the look of bewildered surprise that crossed Xander's face. "Annoying blonde _twat_ of a Slayer. And you know what vampires are, and you know _me_ , though I'll be buggered if I can remember you."

"You – you were gonna bite me. At the school. Angel –"

" _Angelus_?" Spike unconsciously leaned back, his hand slipping away from Xander's throat and Xander twitched like he wanted to get up.

"No, Angel. He was all – souled up and broody and he dragged me into the school and you were there –"

"I'll be damned," Spike said, and Xander actually laughed, shrill and a little shaky. "That was you, then? The little bit of all right all tucked up under the git's arm?"

"Uh. I – guess? Angel was gonna – give me to you or something. For a snack."

"You're really quite a bit more than a snack," Spike murmured, shifting on his knees just a little. Arse to pelvis and this time Xander all but _growled_ , flailing and kicking and panting and Spike just pushed himself to his feet and yanked Xander up by his still-captive wrist. "You'll hurt yourself, mate," Spike said.

"Fuck off." Xander pushed his palms flat to his eyes – ground them around for a moment and then shoved his damp hair back, off his face. "Fuck. I stink. And my leg hurts. I want some god damn soda."

"I want a bottle of Jack and _off_ this poxy island. The red-head said Hook didn't die."

"Huh? Well – Peter says he killed him but in the town, they say he didn't. He's not the same, whatever happened to him." Xander brushed at damp leaves and dirt that were sticking to his belly. "Come on, the Indians have soap."

"I need to meet this Hook. If he knows a way out –"

"He'll kill you," Xander said, and Spike felt for one of his few remaining cigarettes with a sigh.

"I'm bloody hard to kill, boy. Took out two Slayers, I have, and fought _yours_ to a standstill once or twice. Don't think some washed-up pirate can do me in."

"You'd be surprised," Xander muttered. He started limping back up the trail to the village and Spike followed. "Why did…why'd you come after me, anyway?" 

Spike took a pull off his smoke and considered what, exactly, to say. He didn't want to admit to being railroaded by a bunch of sodding kids. _Or_ to be scared of never getting out of this madhouse. 

He was interrupted by Tink, who'd zoomed away at the start of the fight. The fairy was suddenly back, wallowing through the air like a drunken pigeon and crashing head-long into Xander's chest. Xander's hands came up automatically, cupping the tiny body and Tink hung off his thumb, panting, gossamer wings drooping limply down.

"What in hell –?"

"Tink? What's wrong? You're – not very glowy." 

Tink chimed faintly, the glow fading fast. Without it, Tink was palely blue, the color of the sky on a chill winter morning. But the blue was going ashy and as Xander lifted his hands, a thread of scarlet blood spilled over Tink's lips.

"Oh, Jesus! Tink!" Tink's eyes were half-shut, the attenuated body jerking in little spasms. There was a smear of something pink and sticky on his fingers and Spike leaned in and sniffed carefully.

"Smells weird. Smells _off_. Can they be poisoned?" 

Xander looked up at Spike, eyes widening in horror. "Oh, fuck. Yeah, they can. We gotta – gotta go. The Indians –" Xander started running, cupping Tink close to his chest and Spike flicked the cherry off his cigarette and stuffed the unsmoked half into a pocket, loping after Xander. 

"What'd he say, before?" Spike asked, and Xander glanced back at him, dodging a low-hanging branch, panting. 

"Something about the…pirates…and Tootles and Wendy… I think...they got 'em. I think the pirates got all three."

"Never a dull moment, is there?" Spike grumbled, leaping a clump of brambles. But – captives had to be rescued, didn't they? Looked like he was going to meet Captain Hook sooner than he thought. _*And without Pan around, too. Better and better.*_

 

Xander stumbled into the clearing, gasping harshly. Reeling as he made his way among the tepees, toward the central fire. Spike slowed to a brisk walk as he cleared the trees – watched several curious heads pop out of tepee flaps here and there. But most of the Indians seemed to want to stay inside – out of the rain that had started again as they'd run up from the boat landing. The other boys were crouched close together by the fire, wrapped in loaned hides. They stumbled up and ran toward Xander as he neared, hands going out to steady him.

"Xander ,what -?"

"H-help – Tink –" 

"Xander!" The red-headed woman gestured, standing in the doorway of what Spike assumed was her home and the clutch of boys moved toward her, filing inside one by one.

Spike ducked in after them, standing up into a dim, fire-lit place, lined with hides and furs. Herbs, tools, baskets and other things hung from the ribs of the frame and the whole place smelled of smoke and sage and woman. The boys stood in silence, shoulders brushing and eyes wide. There was blood streaking down Xander's leg, the bandage coming unraveled from his run. 

"Poisoned," Xander gasped out, holding Tink up and the red-head gently lifted the twitching body into her hands. 

"Sit, sit down. Tiger Lily, is that water hot? Yes? Good - you tend Xander's leg. Alec –" to the boy called John – "fetch me the blue box, it's behind my bed." He scrambled over a tangled heap of furs and blankets, hunting, and the woman knelt down, leaning in close to the fire. "Do you know what with?" she asked Xander, and Xander shook his head.

"No, he just…came flying into me…the pirates, they've got Roxy and Tony an'…an' Tootles. Tink said." Xander hissed softly as Tiger Lily pressed a wet cloth to his leg and she shot him a quick, apologetic glance.

"Pirate poison…probably strychnine…" John knelt down beside her, the box in his hands. "Thank you, Alec. Please open it and find the green bundle. Michael, I need you to scrape some charcoal off a burnt stick into a cup, quickly now." Michael – who actually _was_ a Michael – pulled a half-charred stick from the fire and started scraping while John rummaged in the painted tin box and came up with a little bundle of green calico. "Danny –" That was Curly. "Please reach down that basket for me, right over your head. And everyone – please be very quiet. Any little noise can make Tink worse."

"Here, Marion," John whispered, holding up the bundle. 

"Open it – crush half a leaf in the palm of your hand and mix it with hot water. There's a scallop shell in the box – put it in there. Make it thin but not _too_ thin." Everyone worked silently, quickly, casting frightened glances at Tink. Tiger Lily finished winding a fresh bandage around Xander's calf and patted his knee. He gave her a distracted, wide-eyed glance. 

Spike sighed softly and sank down onto his haunches, watching. Watched Marion delicately funnel charcoal-water down Tink's throat and then hold him gingerly while the fairy vomited bile and sticky pink froth and what looked like cake. Then she poured the warm leaf-mixture carefully down as well, and Tink shuddered and sighed and blinked at her, then abruptly went limp in her hands.

Xander was huddled over his knees eyes fixed on Tink. Curly was crouched next to him, his hands fisted into the hides that lay over the floor. They were both mumbling something under their breathes and Spike cocked his head, listening.

" _I believe, I believe, I believe…_ "

Spike snorted and Xander shot him a fierce look. " _Shhh_!"

"All right," Marion whispered. She was wrapping the fairy in a rabbit skin, soft browns and greys against Tink's bluer – better – color. "All of you, out. Too much of anything will bring the convulsions back. He needs to sleep."

The boys all nodded and shuffled around, filing out again into the rain. Spike stayed a moment longer, watching Marion tuck the little bundle of fur and fairy into the basket and set it a foot or so from the fire. She looked up at Spike – wiped her wrist back over her forehead, pushing aside a strand of henna-dark hair. "You too, vampire. Oh, yes –" she added, when Spike felt his eyebrows going up in surprise. "They told me. Go use your…powers or whatever you have to save those others. Hook's not himself anymore than Pan is. They won't last long."

"What makes you think I give a fuck for those boys and that little cow?"

"You went after Xander, didn't you?" she said, and settled cross-legged, a hand on the edge of Tink's basket. "Now, go." 

Spike snarled silently but he went, striding out of the tepee and over to the fire where the boys were standing, cured hides and furs over their heads and shoulders against the wet. "So – off to fight the pirates now, yeah? Save the damsel, all that rot?"

"We have to go," John said. Alec. "Don't we? I mean…Hook'll…"

"He'll kill 'em," Curly said, his voice catching a little. "And Roxy, he'll…"

"Yeah, we have to go." Xander blinked maybe-rain out of his eyes – looked up at Spike. His face was white – drawn and bruised under the eyes. Too old for his years – too old for Neverland. "Will you help us? Pan's right, you might be able to take Hook. Kill him or…something."

"Not if he's the way _out_ of this bloody hole."

"Take him with you, then," John muttered.

"Look, just – tell me how to find his sodding lair or where ever he's taken your mates off to."

"No," Xander said, and Spike growled, letting the demon up and out. Xander flinched – swallowed. The pale, silky fur that he had wound around his head made his eyes fathoms deep – earth dark. "You have to promise you'll help us get them free. _Promise_. If we – if we go in and get killed then there won't be anybody here to remember until Pan brings a new Slightly. You'll have forgotten everything by then - you'll never get home."

Spike glared at Xander – reached out and yanked him close, ripping the fur out his shaking fingers and twisting the wet, dark hair in his fist, tipping Xander's chin up. His other hand locked around Xander's wrist, twisting his arm back and up, between Xander's shoulder blades. The whole of Xander's body was pressed tight to Spike's – hot and sweat-slick and sweet with fear. Rich with blood. The other three stared, frozen, and Xander himself stopped breathing when Spike ran the tip of his tongue up Xander's throat.

"Might be easier to take Hook out with _two_ vamps, don't you think? Only take a few hours for you to rise…" He let the tips of his fangs scrape lightly down the sweet flesh and felt Xander shudder against him. That…felt good.

"Leave him alone! Don't!" Someone was pounding on Spike's back with their fists and Spike roared and spun – kicked out, sending John flying. He hit the ground and rolled, crying out, and Michael and Curly ran after him.

"Stop it! Spike – please stop it, stop it –" Xander got in front of Spike – put both hands flat on Spike's chest, pushing, and Spike let him think he was actually holding him back. "Please, you can – I mean, I'll…I'll let you – d-do –"

"Would you now?" Spike grinned, licking over his fangs and Xander's pale face blanched paler yet. He looked over his shoulder at the other boys, who were helping John up. John was crying but didn't look like he was any more than bruised. Spike hadn't really been trying. 

"Yeah, I'd… I would."

"Just what is it you think you're promising me, boy?" Spike rumbled, pulling Xander in close, hands clenched tight on Xander's biceps. Xander was shaking now – rain caught in his lashes and on his lips – rain making his hair cling in arabesques of rich, brown satin to forehead and shoulders.

"Any-any thing. Whatever you w-want," Xander whispered. "Just – just please get Roxy and Tony free. Don't let Hook…don't let him."

Spike breathed in, slowly, tasting Xander's scent on the back of his tongue. Rich, sweet – iron-salt warm. Cake and blood. And lust, faint but there. _*Teenage boy, doesn't take much. But it sweetens the deal…*_ "All right, then. I'll promise. But you give me something in earnest."

"Earnest?" Xander said, and Spike rolled his hips a little, letting his own lust become glaringly obvious. 

"Give us a kiss, boy," Spike murmured, and Xander's little, harsh gasp made his chest press up against Spike's. Spike could feel his heartbeat – could hear it, thunderous and rabbit-fast.

"Xander –" one of the other boys warned, and Xander cut his eyes that direction. 

Shook his head. "It's okay." Xander licked his lips – leaned in and pressed his mouth lightly to Spike's. 

Spike let the demon go – slid his hands from biceps to throat to skull, his thumbs on Xander's jaw. Pressing in and taking full advantage when the pain made Xander open his mouth. He tasted like honey and blood. Eventually, Spike drew back and Xander just stared at him. 

"Tell me what you know about the pirates, then," Spike said, and Xander smiled.

 

The _Jolly Roger_ was anchored half a mile inland up a river. Sheltered by a turn of the banks, the prow nosed in among old, stately willows, it was a cozy berth. Spike leaned against a tree-trunk and watched it for a while. The ship was old, the boards weathered and silvery where the paint had come away. Here and there were clumsy repairs and the furled canvas looked stained and tatty. The high, old-fashioned poop-deck was gilded in gaudy red and gold paint but the figurehead that loomed out from the bow was piebald and flaking. 

"How many men's he got aboard?" Spike asked and Xander, who was leaning opposite shrugged, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.

"It varies. Usually around sixty. They don't all fight, but on board…"

"Yeah. Don't see your mates, though."

"They're below-decks. There's a…cage."

Spike glanced over at Xander, who was staring at the ship with a kind of sick, fascinated gaze. "Ever been on board?"

"Just – just once. We attacked when they were in town. Drunk and…" Xander made a little gesture with his hands that could mean about anything. "Hook had something Peter wanted. We…killed the ones that were left behind and raided Hook's cabin." 

"Huh." Spike fiddled with his Zippo, wanting a smoke. But not wanting to attract attention in the gloom by firing up his lighter. It was past the noon hour but the sky was still thick with clouds and the light that got through was a dense, still green – more like twilight than afternoon. "So, what'd Pan want from him?"

"Huh? Oh…" Xander seemed to come back to himself from somewhere...not good. "He wouldn't say. He took a box away – never showed us. I don't know where he hid it."

Spike shook his head – tucked his lighter away into his pocket again. He could see at least ten pirates moving around the deck, tending to whatever it is pirates…tended to. "All right. You boys lay low; I'm going to go have a talk with the Captain." Spike pushed away from the tree and started walking and Xander scrambled after him, getting in front of him and putting a hand flat to Spike's chest.

"What? No! They'll kill you if you just – walk in there!"

"Think so?" Spike leaned into Xander's palm and Xander let his elbow buckle – let Spike get in close, his expression confused. "You've never seen William the Bloody in a fight, Xander. You don't know _what_ I can do. And these sorry excuses for pirates…" Spike let the demon out, grinning, and Xander flinched back. "They're no match for me. Don't even know I exist."

"You – you don't know that! What if Tootles or Tony said what you are?"

"Would your fellow lost boys give up a comrade to the enemy?" Spike sneered, and Xander's expression went from frantic to furious.

"Tootles would. He's been here the longest - he's been here since Marion was the Tiger Lily. He _likes_ it here." Xander's mouth twisted in disgust. He looked over his shoulder at the ship, unconsciously moving closer to Spike. "He'd do about anything to keep everything the same. Including selling out to Hook."

Spike considered that, but even forewarned… It didn't matter. Not the way he was feeling. Like he wanted to rip out the throat of the bloody _world_. "Never you mind, mate. They don't trouble me." Spike grinned again, this time letting the demon go – slipping his hand up Xander's neck to curl in the thick, heavy hair at the nape of his neck. "Weren't worried about me, were you?" he murmured, tugging Xander a little closer. Inhaling the musk and salt of him, and Xander frowned.

" _No_. I don't…care." 

"I think you do," Spike said, rubbing his fingers against Xander's scalp – leaning in, just a little. Enough to feel it when Xander took in a sharp, shaky breath.

"I just don't want you going in there and screwing up and getting Roxy killed," Xander muttered, but his lids were half-shut over his eyes – his mouth was soft and wet with rain and Spike kissed him. Xander let him, for a moment, and then he twisted away. "Don't, okay?"

"Already breaking your promise?" Spike said, more amused than irritated. For the moment.

"What? No! It's just…Roxy and them... They come first. Okay?" Xander's eyes were wide – so dark – but his jaw was tense, his fingers curled tightly into Spike's shirt. "Okay?"

"Oh, all right. Bloody hell." Spike sighed and reached for his cigarettes. Hook was supposed to have cigars, he'd nick a few. Right now, he needed a smoke.

 

There was a poorly-contrived boardwalk under the willows that led over marshy ground to a rickety gang-plank. Spike stood at the foot of it and looked up – shrugged. Ship's etiquette said you were supposed to ask permission to come aboard, but he had no intention of announcing his presence.

He swaggered up the gang-plank and hopped down onto the deck. It was greasy-looking and littered with willow leaves and bits of trash – even a bone or two, although from the size they looked like chicken bones. There was a long, low box made of iron strips in the middle of the deck, and something blinked at him from inside. Blinked and stank like carrion and Spike puffed out a cloud of smoke to try and cover it.

"Here! Who in the name o' Mary are you?" It was a high, thin voice with a God damned Irish accent and Spike turned on it with a snarl.

"I want the Captain. Tell him it's William the Bloody."

The speaker was a fat little man with round glasses and wisps of white hair sticking up from a half-bald head. He was standing with one hand on the body of an old-fashioned treadle sewing machine, the other on the hilt of a cutlass. There was nothing even remotely frightening about him, from his cracked boots to his filthy neckerchief. But his eyes were hidden behind the lenses of the glasses, whited out with reflected light and Spike repressed a small shudder. 

"I'm sure and I don't know any William the Bloody. What business with the Captain?"

"Pan business," Spike said, and the man flinched back, his rough hand tightening on the cutlass. 

"If you're a mate o'that Pan, you're no friend o' the Captain's."

Spike lifted his cigarette to his lips and smoked the last quarter inch down in one long drag. He flicked the butt at the man, who ducked a little. "I'm no friend of Pan's. Just want to talk to the Captain about him."

"Smee? Do we have company?" 

_*The man himself.*_ Spike watched Hook come a step or two forward from the deep shadows of under the poop-deck stairs. The doors to his private quarters were there. A light smoldered somewhere inside, behind him, throwing Hook into silhouette. 

"He says he's here on Pan business, Cap'n," Smee said, turning around fast. His hand didn't leave the hilt of his cutlass. "Says he no friend o' Pan's."

"No friend of Pan's is…a friend indeed. Mister…?"

"William th' Bloody," Smee muttered, and Hook made a bowing motion. 

"William the Bloody. Do come in." Spike stopped himself from bowing back and sauntered forward. Close up, Hook stank of rum and sweat and something sweet. The overripe sweetness of decaying roses – half-rotten fruit. An underlying tang of metal, and Spike saw the dull gleam of the steel hook that had replaced his right hand. His eyes had a strange, reddish glow in them as he watched Spike walk by.

 _*Something…off, here. Not quite right…*_ Hook _seemed_ human. As human as anything in Neverland had, so far. But Spike remembered the pirate's blood in his mouth – remembered that the chip hadn't once shocked him here. "My pleasure, Captain," Spike said, and walked to the center of the room beyond.

It was the lushness of a garden gone to seed, inside. Rugs and velvet throws draped over everything, showing worn spots and raveling tassels. A bed heaped with pillows spilling their innards, anchored to keep it from moving by heavy cables attached to hooks set in the floor. There were little cabinets and boxes tucked everywhere, draped in cobwebs and furred with dust. The table placed under the stern windows was scattered with a dozen or more dishes of sweets and pastries, cooked meats and candied fruits and jellies of blood-red and gooseberry green. All of it had the same too-ripe stink and Spike eyed it with disgust.

"Please – sit down," Hook said, gliding past Spike and gesturing to a pillow-padded chair. He himself settled into one that was draped with a worn tiger hide, fussily arranging the lace cuff of his right sleeve before looking up at Spike. "A drink, Mister –"

"Just call me Spike, mate. Most do. A drink's exactly what I need."

"Spike. Of course." Hook lifted a cut-crystal decanter and poured a generous measure of amber rum into a glass – held it out to Spike. Spike took it and drank it down while Hook poured his own glass. Then they both simply sat for a moment. Watching. 

Hook was as pale as Spike, with livid circles under his eyes and an unhealthy tinge of blue to his lips and fingernails. His elaborately curled hair fell past his shoulders, but it was greasy and lank – in need of a wash. The lace at his throat and around his wrists was delicate, expensive…ragged. Every bone in his face and hands was pressed up against his skin and his eyes… They were blue, in the light of the hanging lamp, but sunk so far back into their sockets that Hook looked skeletal. He looked, in fact, quite dead, even though Spike could clearly hear his heartbeat.

 _*Said he died, but Marion said he didn't. Brought him back, but…he's not right. If he didn't die – what happened to him? Fuck, he looks mad as a hatter and stinks like a crypt. This had bloody well better get me **something**.*_ "So…Captain James Hook. Peter Pan told me he killed you," Spike said. Fuck diplomacy – he wanted answers.

Hook shuddered – tossed back the last mouthful of rum in his glass and poured himself more. "He did, Spike. In a way. Put a blade…right through me." Hook rubbed at his chest with the curve of iron, his eyes far away for a moment. "But then…" Hook shrugged – grinned at Spike, a death's-head gaping. "Then he wanted me back. So…back I came."

"What's that mean, back you came? Were you dead or not?" Spike snapped. He reached over and poured himself more rum, filling the glass to the rim.

"Oh, I was very much dead, yes. Cold in my coffin, you might say. If I'd had a coffin. Burial at sea, don’t you know," Hook said, and laughed. It had a grating quality, as if Hook's throat was a little damaged. He poured his own glass full – reached into a little silver-chased box on the table and took out a slim, black cigar. "Smoke, my good man?"

"Don't mind if I do." Spike took the cigar – lit it with his Zippo and then lit Hook's. Watched the flower-blue eyes slide over the metal case and slip away, uninterested. "So you died and came back. I know a little something about that, myself." The cigar tasted of honey and green and, faintly, of earth. 

"Do you?" Hook murmured. He shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth and plucked a candied cherry from a dish, eating it awkwardly. The confection stained his lips to a deep plum, and the cigar waggled up and down, dropping ash unnoticed down his shirt front. "Did they weight you with chain and slide you over…did you sink down and down, fathoms deep…the water all about you going from pearl to sapphire to ink…?" Hook found Spike's gaze with his own but then looked away, his hand curling around the glass of rum but not picking it up. "Did you feel the pressure of it – the incredible pressure, squeezing your very bones – crushing your organs and your brains…?" Hook's gaze was far-off and shuttered, the coal-red glow winking far back in his eyes. He seemed to have stopped breathing, even though the steady _thum-thump_ of his heart went on and on.

It was actually kind of irritating. "I dug my way up out of the mud and filth with my bare hands," Spike snapped, and finished off his glass. "Look, I don't actually give a fuck about your burial at sea. What I came here about is getting _off_ this bloody island. Marion says –"

"Marion? Oh, the native woman…" Hook brightened at that – lifted his glass finally and swirled the drink around and around, a hint of a smile quirking his lips. A little rum slopped over, spattering his thigh. "She's rather…interesting, wouldn't you say?"

"Doesn't hold a patch to my Dru, if you ask me. Did you get off the island?"

Hook stopped swirling the glass – took a slow drag off his cigar, watching Spike through the smoke. "Of course I did, my good man. I _died_ , after all. Went…down to Davy Jones. To his kingdom under the sea…"

"Oh, bloody hell." Spike made to rise and Hook held out his hand. 

"No, no. Please. I'm so sorry, Spike. Sometimes I find myself in a most melancholy mood. My apologies." Hook's little smile was back, and he took the cigar from his mouth, holding it and the glass in his left hand. His right arm came up, the hook glinting dully. He pressed it to his lips and Spike saw the tip of his tongue flicker out and touch it. "After I died, I learned a secret. A secret about me…about –" He gestured around them with the hook. "About this whole place. About how to get away from here."

"You want to tell me what that secret is, then? Captain?" Spike said, and Hook leaned back in his chair, crossing one booted leg over his velvet-trousered thigh.

"I'd be happy to, Spike. Sir William the Bloody. For a price, of course."

"Of course." Spike took a draw on his cigar, letting the smoke drift slowly from his lips. 

"I want the lost boys. Want them here, on this ship. Want them to be _mine_. And I want Pan…dead."

"Of course you do." _*Bloody fool. There's five times over the boys on this ship – doesn't need me to get them…*_ "The boys are just out on the shore, there, waiting for me. The ones you don't have down below," Spike said, and Hook grinned.

"Yes, the estimable Tootles and…a twin, he said. And the Wendy. She's a feisty one." Hook pulled the neck of his shirt aside with the hook, revealing a bruise and deep scratch-marks, dry and livid on his pale skin.

"A regular wildcat," Spike said dryly. "What do you mean, _yours_? Don't you just want to kill them?"

"Oh, God no. Killing them would be too simple." Hook sipped his rum – puffed the cigar, rubbing the hook slowly up and down the scuffed shank of his boot. "I want them to swear loyalty to me. I want them to…to look to me as they look to Pan. To…feel…" Hook stopped, looking away, and Spike felt a surge of amusement rise up in him.

"They don't love him, you know. They rather despise Pan, these days."

Hook flinched ever so slightly, but his eyes tracked back to Spike, just blue now, and so tired. "Yes, I know they don't. They hate him. But they hate with passion. They _believe_ … I want _that_. I want their belief. I…need it."

"And if I get you the boys – kill Pan? You'll tell me how to get off this sodding island?"

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. I don't want you here, you know. Your kind." Spike raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I know you, vampire. I know Pan thinks you'll be my doom. He thought the crocodile would be, too." Hook stood up and paced to the door – called softly through it. Called to Smee. "I want you gone, Spike. You're…upsetting things. Too much is already wrong… Pan, he doesn't know what he's doing, anymore."

"You don't seem quite all here yourself, mate," Spike observed, and Hook laughed that croaking laugh again. 

"No, I suppose I don't." The door creaked open an inch or two and Hook whispered to Smee, who whispered back. A moment or two later there was the sound of many feet – rattling weapons. The pirates going to capture the last of the lost boys. "Well, that's well in hand, then," Hook said with a dry little laugh. He walked back to the table – set glass and cigar aside and picked up a blood-red coat from the back of the chair. He swung it on, careful of his hook, and then smoothed the raveling gold braid that adorned the cuffs and collar.

"I must dress the part, mustn't I? To greet the boys. And when they're mine…you'll kill Pan. You'll kill…Peter Pan."

"And you'll tell me how to get back." Spike stood up, and Hook made another little bow.

"Yes, I will. On my word as a gentleman."

Spike grinned. "On _mine_ then, as no such thing."

 

"You _liar_ ," Xander growled, and Spike laughed softly. 

"I didn't lie to you, boy. I said I was going to talk to Hook, and that's exactly what I did."

"Yes you did so lie! You told him where we were! You _helped_ him –"

"Oh, please." Spike leaned against the bars of the cell door, smoking, and Xander jerked back. He had blood in his hair – blood down his side from the slashing tip of a cutlass and he smelled...delicious. "I did no such thing. Had a little chat, is all." Xander just stared back at him, furious and shaking and Spike had to grin. "Oh, all right, all right. Got it out of me, you did. I told him you lot were lurkin' about in the bushes, waiting to spring on them."

"Fuck you," Xander muttered. He crossed his arms and then winced – looked down at the blood smeared on his wrist – on his ribs. "They go out to fight the Indians all the time, or they go into town. We could have gotten Roxy and Tony free _then_ and been safe home."

"And Tootles," Spike said, and Xander shot him a dark look.

"Fuck _Tootles_." Xander sighed and slid down the bars, wedging himself into the corner, legs tucked up close to his chest and his arms hugging his knees. His hair was wet, dripping onto his shoulders and he was shivering.

"I heard you. I _heard_ you, Slightly, you're not supposed to say things like that!" Tootles glared at Xander from across the aisle, cross-legged on the straw-covered floor of the other cell. Tony and Roxy were curled up together under a ragged blanket against the far wall. John had been shoved in there, too – the rest were with Xander.

"I don't care, Tootles! I'll – I'll say what I want!"

Tootles gave Xander a considering look, head tipped a little to one side. Then he smiled, cold and mean. "When Peter gets back, I'm telling him."

"I don't care if you tell him!" Xander looked close to tears and Spike kicked the bars of Tootles cell, letting the demon out. 

"Shut it, you. I'll drink you down and throw your husk to the fish." Tootles' eyes went wide and he scuttled backward, knocking skull and spine into the far wall and huddling there. Spike smirked at him and crouched down beside Xander, tossing the butt of his cigar away. It sizzled out on the wet planks, leaving a dank smell behind. Xander rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed.

"Hook doesn't want you dead. He wants you alive – wants you to be _his_ , or so he says."

"What, like he tried to make Roxy his?" Xander said, with a jerk of his chin toward the mound of blanket and the two children sleeping underneath. She still smelled of blood and semen.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe. He said he needs your belief. Hate or love, it's all the same to him." Spike studied Xander's pale, dirt-smudged face – the bruise coming up on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he reached through the bars and traced the livid edges of it. Xander shivered but didn't pull away. "He wants me to kill Pan, you know."

"He does?" Xander studied Spike in turn – sighed when Spike nodded. He leaned into Spike's touch, fingertips rubbing slowly over Spike's knee. "Do you think you can?"

"I think Pan won't know what he's brought into his nest," Spike said, showing fangs and Xander laughed softly. 

"Good." He rubbed his eyes again, sighing. " _God_ , I'm so hungry. Wish I had a three by three In-n-Out burger with large fries and a Coke. No! - a chocolate milkshake."

"Xander, God - _don't_." Curly lifted his head from where he'd pillowed it on his crossed forearms. "We said. No talking about...food. Food from before." His face was pinched and drawn – his broken foot swollen and purpling under a ragged strip of cloth.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm sorry, Danny. You okay?"

"It hurts," Curly whispered. Beside him, Michael stirred and reached out for the water bucket – poured a gentle trickle over the distended skin, wetting the makeshift compress. Curly hissed, flinching, and Michael put the bucket down and rubbed his back, murmuring to him.

"Spike, can you p-please..." Xander stopped – blinked up at the dark, tarred ceiling. His chin trembled. "Can you please a-ask –"

"Course I can, pet," Spike said, his features relaxing back into their human cast. He slid his hand up Xander's shoulder and into his hair – pulled him a little closer and kissed him through the bars. Xander tasted like salt and earth – like the smoky air. Spike pulled away and stood up – surveyed the dingy cells one last time and then headed up and out. Time for another talk with Hook – time to make a plan. But first, he needed Xander to be taken care of. _*Might have to take that one back with me. He'd turn into something so...sweet.*_ Xander's scent lingered, blood and cake, and Spike licked his lips. Feeling a bit peckish, really. He imagined that Hook could spare a pirate or two.

Topside there was a buzz of excitement in the air, and Hook was standing up on the poop deck, one hand lightly on the wheel. Pirates were swarming up the lines like rats and Spike joined Hook with a small nod, watching as a half-dozen pirates trod 'round and 'round the capstan, winching the anchor up.

"We're weighing anchor, as you can see," Hook said. He tipped his chin back and looked up at the sky. The clouds seemed blacker than ever – furling and unfurling in thick layers, rain sifting down. Thunder growled, low and far off, and Spike blinked at a sudden pop of lightning. 

"Going where, then?" Spike asked.

"Why, to Mermaid Lagoon, of course. Can't you feel it, sir? Pan...is coming back." And Hook grinned, a death's head grimace in the storm-murk. The willow branches were lashing the bow as they ship was towed slowly out of its temporary dock. Once clear of the limbs and the slow bank eddy the jolly-boat was swung back on board and Hook gave the orders to set the sails. A steady wind was blowing, rushing through the forest with a dry-throated roar and the shock of it hitting the sails jolted right through them, making Spike lose his balance for a moment.

"The boys, down below...they need a bit of tending," Spike said finally, and Hook turned a mild look on him, his hand idly caressing the wheel.

"Yes, I’m sure they do. I'll send Smee down in a bit. He's a dab hand at that sort of thing. How shall you do it, sir?"

"Do what?" Spike asked. He dug his flattened cigarette pack out of his pocket and gingerly extracted the last one. It was a little crushed but it would do. He lit up and tucked his lighter away.

"Why – kill Pan, of course." 

"Oh, that." Spike flicked ashes into the wind – a storm now, really, with thunder muttering almost constantly and lightning flickering overhead, lighting the clouds to a blue-white luminescence. "I imagine he'll die like they all do – fists and fangs."

"Yes, perhaps he will," Hook mused. He called out his orders to Smee and Smee shouted them to the crews and the _Jolly Roger_ sailed slowly down river. At the mouth Spike braced himself a little against the slew of the two currents meeting and then the ship was free of the land and beyond the breakers. The wind struck like a gale, edged with ice. The ship stretched out like a greyhound, leaping into the swells and troughs of the racing, black waters. The clouds were livid, bruise-green and a deep, slatey blue. Coiling and curling, so low it seemed you could reach up and touch them.

Spike held onto the rail as the sky opened with a roar, rain slashing down and thunder all but deafening him. His cigarette fizzled out and he tossed the butt over the side with a grimace of disgust. Hook stood wide-legged at the wheel, his coat belling and flapping behind him, his long hair streaming with water, twisting in the wind.

"Not far now! Heave, you dogs! We want all our canvas wet!" The thing in the cage down in the middle of the lower deck slithered and hissed – rumbled a strange, dry croaking as the pirate's bare, callused feet rushed all around – and sometimes over – it.

"What's that down there, Hook!" Spike shouted. "In the cage!" 

Hook looked over at Spike and grinned that mad, scarecrow grin at him – wiped the rain out of his eyes with a long-nailed hand. "That? That's the crocodile! I killed the bloody thing and shoved it in there but that damn Pan – he wouldn't let it die! Like me, yes? It stinks to high heaven on a warm day!" Hook laughed – kept on laughing as the ship hove up and then slapped down, water coming over the deck in a sheet and the pirates clinging to spars and rope to keep from being swept overboard. The sky shattered again and again under the hammer strokes of thunder, lightning flaring white-hot in the cracks.

Spike whipped his head to the side, scattering rain and salt water and hung grimly on. He imagined it was sheer hell below decks. _*I'll get you out soon enough, boy – the bloody island's the size of a stamp, be there in no time...*_

There was a sudden rising crescendo of sound from the pirates and Hook shouted something that the wind caught and carried away.

"What? What –"

"He's back! Look! Pan's back!" Hook screamed, and Spike followed his pointing hook to a streak of greenish white that was cutting across the sky like a comet. It _was_ Pan, and as the world seemed to shake apart under the assault of the storm, Spike realized that Peter Pan...was angry.

 

"Smee!! Hurry! Get below and get those boys topside!" Hook shouted, glaring forward through the slashing rain. Smee gathered a bag from Hook's quarters – gestured to two pirates and scurried below. Spike just hung on, watching Pan rocket ahead of them. The sky was black now – clouds boiling thick and fast, lightning popping like flashbulbs. Somewhere ashore, a palm tree exploded under a direct hit and Spike smelled ozone and charred wood, his skin tingling with the proximity of so much energy.

"Hurry, you dogs! Arm and out! Smee!" Hook spun the wheel hard and the ship heeled nearly over, bow-sprit dipping under the waves with a staggering shock. Marooner's rock was approaching rapidly, swamped and then bare as the waves burst around it, kelpy sides slick and dark in the gloom. 

"Hook, you daft bastard, you're going to smash us to kindling!" Spike shouted, snarling – demon-faced and furious. Hook cackled, spinning the wheel again, standing wide-legged against the insane tilt of the deck. 

"What, sir – frightened? Surely you don't fear the sea, you who can live forever!" The ship skimmed past the rock like a diving hawk and then – there was a wrenching, shuddering concussion as everything...stopped. The ship groaned like a living thing and every pirate aboard yelled as their motion was violently and abruptly ended. Pirates flew across the deck – several fell from the rigging, screaming, and crunched nastily to the deck. Spike saved himself from going arse over tip only by dint of a furious hold on the rail. Hook hung over the wheel for a moment, swinging wildly, and then he staggered upright as the ship settled, the decks angled to port. "Smee!"

"Here, sir, we're here, Cap'n!" Smee shouted, and Spike hauled himself to the stairs and down. Smee was on deck, the boys huddled behind him. Several pirates were standing guard with cutlasses and daggers and the boys looked battered and a bit sick. The Wendy wasn't there. Curly was sagging between Xander and Michael, his broken foot splinted now and Spike moved closer, leaning against the tilt of the deck. There was a burnt-sweet smell lingering in the air, thick and heavy. 

_*Opium. **He's** not hurting.*_ "Xander – you all right?"

"Huh?" Xander shifted Curly's weight a little, looking up slowly. His eyes were half-lidded, his gaze a little lost. 

"Bloody _hell_ – Hook!" Spike shouted, turning to look up at the tall man who was stomping down the poop-deck stairs. "They're dosed!" 

"They needed an edge, is all," Hook said, waving his hook airily. The pirates were gathered in rows now, ranged all around the boys. Cutlasses, daggers – a nasty boat-hook or two in their hands. The storm raged overhead but it all seemed peculiarly muted. "Now! You lost boys! I've taken you prisoner because once again – Pan has abandoned you!"

There was a rumble of agreement from the pirates and the boys shifted – blinked dazedly around them. "No, he...he didn't..." Tootles murmured, but Hook waved his protestation away.

"Of _course_ he did. He always has! He flies away to play with the fairies or the mermaids and forgets all about you boys. I've seen it time and again." Hook paced up to the boys – reached out and put a gentle hand on the remaining twin's shoulder. "He _starves_ you boys. Look at you! Skin and bones." The twin looked down at himself, swaying unsteadily, and Hook patted him.

"But I wouldn't do such a thing. _Never_. Why – my dogs, they eat steak every night! Don't you, men?"

A rough chorus of agreement went up, the pirates grinning wolfishly. The ship shifted again, settling as the waves ate away at the sand under the keel. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the air directly overhead seemed to be going still. The rain had slacked just a little, slanting down in a silvery skein, hissing into the sea.

 _*Eye of the bloody storm. Get a move on, Hook – Pan'll be here before you know it...*_ Spike had no worries about taking on Peter Pan – he welcomed the chance for a real fight. But he wanted the boys – one boy – out of the way before that happened. 

"Oh, the pirate's life is a grand one!" Hook continued, hand and hook clasped behind his back. He paced awkwardly back and forth before the little clump of lost boys. "You eat whatever you please, you sleep warm and there's gold and riches for everyone! But do you know the best thing, boys? The very best?" Hook stopped still, leaning in close, and the pirates prodded at the boys, who shuffled a little, pressing together. Dilated eyes fixed on Hook, mouths a little open. Even Curly seemed to be taking in something of what was being said.

"Oh, the very best thing, my boys, is that you _grow up_. You grow up on this ship, my lads. You grow up and _no one_ tries to stop you, and everyone..." Hook leaned even closer, grinning, his hair in lank tendrils like seaweed on the sides of his face. "Everyone is afraid of you, boys. Instead of the other way 'round. Isn't that right, me hearties?" Hook shouted the last and the boys jerked in surprise – turned to look in wide-eyed wonder as the pirates around them roared their approval.

"Tha's right!" 

"Steak and eggs whenever we like!" 

"Rum for breakfast!" 

"Every man Jack in the town bowin' and scrapin'!"

"And there's _women_ ," one pirate said, leaning in close to Xander, who twitched away. Spike's hands itched to hit the leering bastard.

"There's all that and more. All that and _more_ , boys if... _If_... you're a pirate." Hook straightened up, wiping at his hair – pushing it back off his brow. He eyed the boys, who shifted uneasily under his gaze.

Tootles took a step forward, pushing his rain-spattered glasses up higher on his nose. "We don't give a – a damn for your stories, Hook! Do we, boys?" He looked around and the boys looked away, glancing at each other. Spike could hear their hearts pounding. "We don't want to be pirates!"

"No? Don't you? Why – you could be...Red-Handed Jack! The terror of the seas!" Hook said, and Tootles' mouth stayed open for a moment as he gazed at Hook.

"I – no! I'm _Tootles_! I'm the oldest here after Pan, I – would never betray him! None of us would!"

"Never?" Hook asked, his voice going low, and Tootles' shoulders straightened and his chin came up.

"Never, you – you black-hearted villain!"

"That's a pity, really," Hook mused. He tapped the jabot of lace at his throat with the hook – stepped up closer to Tootles, who looked up at him, blinking rapidly. "Be sure, now – never _ever_?"

"Not for all the tea in China!" Tootles declared, and Hook sighed.

"Truly a pity, my boy. But I can't have nay-sayers on my ship." He stared down at Tootles and then his hook slashed out, glittering. It cut across Tootles' throat and Tootles stumbled backward, his hands going up futilely to clutch at his neck. Blood ran out between his fingers – raced down his chest, mixing with the rain. The scent of it was thick and hot and Spike licked his lips, leaning against the rail. The boys watched in diluted horror as Tootles went to his knees and then his back, his spectacles askew. His hands slipped limply away and his cut throat gaped obscenely, the last spasms of his heart pumping out a tongue of scarlet.

"No, oh no, oh no, _no_..." John was staring – moaning, his arms wrapped around his ribs, and Xander struggled to push Curly entirely onto Michael, stumbling forward.

"You _killed_ him, Jesus, you – you just –"

"Of _course_ I killed him! He was Pan's boy, not mine." Hook's hand darted out and wrapped around the back of Xander's neck, pulling him close. The hook caught Xander around the hip, digging in but not drawing blood. "My dogs must be loyal, boy. They must love...me. They must _die_ for me, if I ask. Because I know a secret." Hook's eyes fluttered closed and for a moment he simply stood there, swaying slightly. Close enough to Xander that their foreheads were nearly touching, and Xander's hands fluttered at Hook's lace and velvet, not...quite...pushing away.

"I don't – I just want to...want to go home," Xander said, and Hook grinned.

"And home you shall go, my boy. Home you shall go." He straightened, letting Xander go and Xander reeled back, bumping into John and the twin, who caught him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Time's wasting, boys. I know a secret that you'll _all_ want to know and I shall tell you! If you swear loyalty to me – I shall tell you _everything_."

"Tell us _what_?" Michael asked, and the twin laughed, raw and choked.

"Who cares? Do you – do you know what he did to Roxy? He –"

"Shut up, Tony," Michael snapped, and his voice was strained and cracking – too high-pitched.

"Do you want to know?" Hook purred, and the boys nodded dumbly. Spike watched as Xander wiped at his face, rain beaded on his lashes. He shot a look to Spike and Spike just shrugged. Past Hook's shoulder Spike could see cloud of little colored sparks, moving and shifting like a flock of sparrows. And Pan at the lead, coming fast. The sky strobed with lightning but it had all gone silent – even the wind had died, and the rain was a mere sprinkle now. The waves were hushed, the sails hanging limply from the spars, slack in the breathless air.

"Tell us," Xander whispered.

"I can send you home, boys. _Home_. Back to your mothers. Back to everyone and everything you left behind." Hook's eyes were gleaming in the twilight – reddish glow far back in the deep sockets, his lips pulled up in a terrible, wonderful smile. "Home, if you swear loyalty to me!"

"Home? Really?" John wiped his nose on his wrist and took a step forward and Xander put his hand flat to John's chest.

"You have to swear," Xander said slowly. "Swear on – on your mother, Hook! Swear on her soul."

"I solemnly swear it, on my mother's immortal soul." Hook's voice was low and steady – his hook over his heart and Xander stared at him for another moment.

"All right. I'll swear. I'll be a pirate," he said finally, and Hook threw back his head and laughed. 

"That's my boy! Quick now – we don't have much time. Hold out your hands," Hook said. Xander nudged John and John nudged the twin, who made a sound of disgust.

"I _won't_ –" 

"You can take Roxy home, Tony! Come on!" Michael growled.

"Oh, God, you're all damn – _crazy_!" Tony smeared his knuckles across his eyes – glared at Hook. "You better not be lying, you bastard." He thrust his hand forward and then Xander did, and John. A huge, tattooed pirate helped Michael to get Curly upright and Curly grimaced, hopping a little on his good foot. He held out his hand, as well, and Michael did.

Hook all but crowed. He urged the boys closer and then his hook flashed out again, slicing across five palms. Blood welled up – spattered onto the rain-slick deck and the boys swayed. "Swear now, boys! Swear on your blood and on your souls – swear that you will be pirates of the _Jolly Roger_ and the loyal servants of Captain James Hook until the day you die! Swear it!"

 

"I swear –" Xander said, and the boys joined in, halting chorus. "I will be a pirate of the Jolly Roger..."

"Yes! Oh, that's good, boys." Hook gashed his own palm open and when his blood – dark and peculiar and smelling too sweet – oozed over his palm he smeared it across the boys' still-outstretched hands. "Am I your captain, boys?"

"Yes," the boys said.

"Who am I?" he shouted.

"Captain Hook."

" _Who_?"

"Captain Hook!"

"The deadliest pirate on the seven seas!" a pirate yelled, somewhere back in the crowd.

"The finest buccaneer to wield a sword!"

"The slyest dog in the fleet!"

"Captain Hook! Captain Hook! Captain Hook!" With every shout, Hook straightened – brightened – threw out his chest and all but pranced. Color seemed to flood back into his face, and his eyes danced as he surveyed the yelling crew. The boys had even taken up the chant, bloody fists aloft. As they shouted – screamed – roared to the sky, Peter Pan arrived.

 

Pan came down in the midst of them like a stooping hawk to the center of a flock of pigeons. Pirates and lost boys alike yelled, stumbling back. The fairies swarmed for a moment and then dispersed, lining the shrouds and rails all around. A blue one buzzed drunkenly into Spike and then settled on his shoulder.

"Feeling better, mate?" Spike asked, and Tinkerbell chimed softly at him.

"Hook! You coward. You wait until I'm gone – you attack when my boys are already hurt –!"

" _Not_ your boys, Pan," Hook purred, and Peter checked, staring at him.

"Of course they're my boys! They're the lost boys, they'll _always_ be –" Peter's voice choked off as two pirates shouldered through the crowd and flung Tootles' limp, blood-smeared body to the planking at his feet. Pan stared, open-mouthed, for a long, long moment. Hook watched him, eyes slitted like a cat's. 

"Oh. Oh, it's... Tootles?" Peter crouched down, one hand going out. His fingertips lightly touched the torn flesh of Tootles' throat – the rivulets of still-wet blood and then he snatched his hand back, horror on his face. Eyes fixed on the bloom of scarlet across his skin.

"There's the last one loyal to you, Pan," Hook said. He crouched down as well, gaze on Peter's pale face, the skirts of his scarlet coat spreading out around him. "He's the only one who wouldn't swear loyalty to me – wouldn't swear to be a pirate."

"So you killed him..." Peter whispered. Hook nodded slowly. Peter wiped his fingers on the wet deck, hand shaking. He looked up at the other boys, his eyes wide. They stared back, still dazed from the drug – from what they had done. 

Spike could hear them – the click and wheeze and rush of their lungs, the rabbit-fast _thump thump_ of their hearts. The creak of the ship – the muted tinkling of the hundreds of fairies that looked on from aloft. The storm raged overhead, all but silent, the thunder like great, soft beats of a fan. 

"Why would you – how could you betray me?" Pan whispered, and the boys swayed – shuffled. Shifted on their feet, looking down. " _How_?" Peter shouted, and Xander stumbled forward with a gasp.

"We tried to be loyal to you Peter but you _hurt_ us. You get us killed and you leave us and you – you're all Joan Crawford with the 'no more wire hangers!'" Xander heaved in a sharp breath, glancing swiftly around at the other boys – at Spike. "You _stole_ us! We never wanted to come here – we never wanted to leave home!"

"Of course you did! When I came for you, you were _crying_! You were sad, you were _hurt_! Slightly –"

" _No_!" Xander screamed, and Peter flinched back – everyone did. Spike felt Tink flinch into his neck with surprise. "My name's _Xander_! I'm Xander Harris and I'm from Sunnydale, California! I'm _not_ the Slightly!"

Peter's eyes were wet – glinting with tears that finally spilled over, sudden streak of quicksilver in the tarnished-black air. He held his blood-streaked hand out and it...shook. "But –"

"And I'm not a lost boy anymore. I'm _not_ a lost boy."

"Yes you are!" Peter whispered. He wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand – took a step toward Xander, his hand still outstretched. "You're _all_ –"

"No," John interrupted, hugging his arms tight around his thin ribs. "We – I'm not a lost boy, either."

"Neither am I," Michael said. He looked over at the twin, who shook his head slowly.

"I'm not either. I took a blood-oath, I'm a pirate now," the twin said, holding up his hand. 

Peter shuddered and his own hand fell to his side – fell on the hilt of the dagger he had through his belt. "Curly? Surely you –"

"It's _Danny_ ," the boy said, lifting his chin. "And I'm n-not a lost boy anymore."

Pan just stared at him – stared at them all, his face smeared with tears and his chest heaving – shoulders shaking. He backed away from them as if they were menacing him and Spike felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Xander, _get down_!" Spike yelled and lightning clove the sky – the ship – nearly clove Curly. Everyone was in motion, Smee was screaming for buckets and then the storm came _back_. "Tink, get to Xander," Spike muttered, lifting the tiny body off his shoulder – lofting Tink gently up and out. Pan rose into the air in a whirl of smoke and a deafening crack of thunder and Spike launched himself up the stairs – up to the poop-deck rail and from there...leapt.

Peter's body was thin and hot and supple as a cat's. Twisty as a cat's, and Spike hung on grimly as Pan spun and writhed and kicked at him – tried to slash at him, but Spike had his own hand curled around the hilt of Peter's dagger, over Peter's hand. Crushing the slender fingers and Spike was _not_ letting go. The boy shot upward, fast and furious, until the ship was a toy and the clouds were closing around them, cold and black and stitched with lightening. The thunder was _physical_ , reverberating through Spike's bones.

"They've given up on you, Pan!" Spike shouted. He locked his arm tighter around Pan's chest – dug his elbow into the thin, heaving ribs and jammed his chin down onto Pan's shoulder, the pale-golden sweep of Pan's throat under his cheek. "They're _gone_. Loyal to Hook and no other!" Spike felt them dip in the air – felt Pan's body shudder. His free hand was clawing at Spike's arm – slipping on the leather of Spike's coat. 

"They sealed the oath with their _blood_ , Pan! They don't want to play anymore." Spike felt Peter's hand go lax under his at that – felt their upward momentum slow and then stop and they hung in the air. Hung in a furling veil of grey, the thunder gone silent and the lightning hopscotching in tiny, hissing crackles. Nothing like it was before. Nothing at all.

"But... _why_?" Peter whispered. His head hung a little to the side – his clawing hand dropped down from Spike's arm and hung, motionless. "Is it a...game?"

"No game," Spike murmured. He pressed Peter closer to him, the heated whipcord of the boy's body gone boneless now. No fight left. "They're deadly earnest. They've _grown up_ , and they want to go home." Spike closed his eyes for a moment as they dipped lower, easing free of the clouds – sinking slowly back down to the ship. He took a long breath, shivering a little. Pan's scent was the same as any boy – cake and blood, salt and earth. But something else was there – some low, musky undertone that murmured of dim forests and hidden grottos – of time and knowledge and age that lay – so heavy. "You have to let them go, Peter," he said, watching. Watching as Peter's gaze roved distractedly to and fro, seeing nothing.

"But I need them. There's always... _always_ lost boys. It...says so. In the book. It says..."

"Shhh...." Spike opened his mouth – rested it for a moment on the sweet-salt skin of Pan's throat and then carefully, delicately, bit. Peter didn't move – didn't make a sound – and Spike drank. One long mouthful that was like wine and pure oxygen and honey – like sunlight and dew. With a sigh, Peter closed his own eyes, and they slipped down and down until Spike's boots touched the deck of the _Jolly Roger_.

Touched down in the midst of the boys, the pirates, the fairies. The storm was silent now – the clouds still streaming overhead, the sea still rushing up the beach. But all muted – all washing to shades of charcoal and ash and shadow. Only Hook's coat stood out, crimson slash upon the air. As Spike let his arms loosen – prepared to let Peter slide to the deck – Hook stepped forward, cutlass raised, and drove it through Peter's heart.

"Proud and insolent youth," Hook gasped, white as salt and breathless, his bottle-blue eyes wide. "Prepare to meet thy doom."

An inarticulate groan was wrenched out of Peter's mouth and Hook jerked his sword free, staring at the blood-stained tip. "Oh, _please_ ," Peter whispered, sagging, and Spike tugged Pan's head over gently, laying the golden head on his shoulder.

"No worries, boy. Won't hurt now."

" _Stop_! What – what are you doing?" Xander pushed his way past pirates and boys alike – did a funny little catch-step over Tootles' outflung arm.

"Killing Pan, Xander – what we said." Spike watched Xander's gaze go from Pan to Hook and back to Pan – to _Spike_ , furious and horrified. Tink was on Xander's shoulder, tangled in the draggled locks.

"But – you _can't_ –"

"It's the _deal_ , Xander. I kill Pan – Hook gets us home. Want to go home, don't you?" Peter was limp – nearly unconscious – and Spike hitched him up a little bit. "I'm bloody well getting _out_ of here, and I don't give a fuck who I have to kill to do it."

Xander looked like he wanted to say something else, to stop Spike, but Hook interrupted. He dropped his cutlass to the deck and slipped his coat off, holding it up. "Sir – Spike. Give me the boy, will you? Give him to me."

Spike frowned at Hook, not wanting to give up any advantage. Hook nodded, lifting his coat encouragingly – looking up and around with a lift of his eyebrow and Spike did the same. Everything was going...still. The waves were rippling into smoothness – the clouds flattening out, smoothing like sand on a beach. And the horizon...

 _*Getting closer. Bloody hell, what does that mean? It's... Fuck. It's going **away**.*_ "Yeah, I – yeah, alright." Spike shuffled Pan a step or two toward Hook and Hook met him, wrapping his coat around the slim shoulders and lifting the boy in his arms. Standing there, his hair slick with rain and pushed back – his white shirt a-gleam in the dimness, Hook looked very like...

_*Looks like any man. Any man holding his son...*_

Hook held Peter close to him, the wound of Pan's chest pressed to Hook's own heart – the costume of ragged leaves covered by the thick velvet of the coat. Peter's head was on Hook's shoulder and his hand curled loosely at Hook's neck, his eyes half-shut, his mouth a little open, showing the tiny, pearly teeth.

"You cheated...Hook, you cheated..."

"Shh now," Hook whispered, smoothing his hand down and down Pan's back. He looked up at Spike, his eyes fierce and glinting and somehow...not so tired. "It's going, vampire. All of it. The Great God Pan is dead and with him dies everything and everyone."

"Then tell me how in hell to get back home!" Spike snapped, and he felt Xander move up beside him – the other boys all around, Curly leaning on Michael and John still huddled, hugging himself. 

"Spike –"

"Don't you know, vampire? When Pan dies – so does Neverland. And when Neverland dies....we all go home. Isn't that where you go, when you're hungry and cold..." Hook lifted his hand and stroked Peter's hair back from his forehead – rested his thin cheek there for a moment. "When you're so, so tired..."

"Tired," Peter whispered, and Hook closed his eyes for a moment.

"I know, my little man, I know. We're going to rest now. We're all going to rest and have lovely, happy dreams."

Peter's eyes opened a little wider and he seemed to struggle for a moment. Spike could smell his blood, thick and warm – could imagine that the breast of Hook's shirt must be scarlet with it. Hook shushed him again, stroking his back.

"No, no. Don't fret, boy. I know about your dreams. I know that you cry. You won't cry anymore, my boy."

"Your boy," Peter murmured, and his eyes fluttered closed. Hook looked up – looked around, his eyes darting from pirate to pirate and boy to boy – lingering last on Spike.

"It's over, you dogs – you mad hellions! It's over and now we go to our reward. Down to perdition or up to paradise – or to Davy Jones, to serve out our sentence... The finest pack of brigands on the Seven Seas!"

"Hook!" the pirates shouted, fists raised – eyes wet. "Hook, Hook, _Hook_!"

"Roxy – I have to get Roxy –" The twin – Tony – bolted for the hatch below and Michael gathered John close to him – looked at Spike with frightened eyes.

"Is it true? Are we going home?"

"I don't have a sodding clue, mate," Spike growled. He looked anxiously at the horizon and it was much, much closer – and moving fast. A boiling mass of darkness and all of Neverland was unweaving itself into it. As he stared, the furthest beach-head twisted and whirled and siphoned away, streaming up and out and _gone_ into a void even his demon's eyes couldn't penetrate. 

Xander was standing there staring with him, thin shoulders hunched and his hair curling damply over his neck. Spike reached out and pulled him close, face to face. Put his hands flat on Xander's shoulder-blades, feeling the thrum of Xander's heart through his palms. Tinkerbell disentangled himself from Xander's hair and fluttered upward, his glow flickering madly.

"I just – fuck, I want to be home, Spike. Anywhere but here, you know?"

"Yeah, me too," Spike said. He watched over Xander's shoulder as the nothingness advanced – as the clouds raveled away and the sea drained into the air – as the mermaids arrowed through the water _away_ from it, but it was on all sides now, and there was no escaping it.

"No, I mean...it's a game we used to...we'd say 'anywhere but here' and then...then tell where we wanted to be most." Xander shivered, his breath getting a little shorter – his eyes flickering here and there, wide and scared.

"Yeah? Sounds like fun. Here – Xander?"

"Oh, god, it's really – really moving fast –" Xander was shaking now – looking around a little wildly and Spike caught Xander's face in his hands – made him still. Made him look at _Spike_ , and nowhere else. 

"We'll be fine, yeah? Hook...he knows what he's talking about. We'll be fine."

"We will?"

"We will."

"Dust! Fairy dust!" Hook was looking up at the fairies – lifting his hand for a moment from Peter's back. "Give us your magic – lift us up! Don't let the _Roger_ meet her fate shackled to the earth!"

Above them the fairies stirred – lifted – began to flit madly to and fro, skeins of sparkling dust sifting down fine as flour over the ship. And, impossibly – she rose. Righted herself and floated up and turned, the sails belling in an un-felt breeze. She seemed to pause a moment – to gather herself – and then she plunged forward into the air, and the crew let out a wild cheer. The nothingness – was almost upon them.

"Oh, Jesus, it's coming, it's coming –" Xander muttered and Spike gave him a tiny shake.

"Xander – just...close your eyes."

" _What_?"

"Close your eyes, pet." Xander stared – swallowed and shivered and did it and Spike smiled. He glanced over at Hook, who was climbing the stairs – taking up his wide-legged stance behind the wheel. He nodded once to Spike – turned his head a little and kissed Peter's cheek and then the blackness touched the top of the mast and the bowsprit and Spike closed his own eyes – pulled Xander in tight. 

_*Second on the right, straight on 'til morning....*_ Xander's lips were cold under his, and the end of it all came without a sound.

 

Spike came down to earth – literally – with a thump of his boots onto leafmold and spongy earth. He staggered sideways, thrown off balance by Xander's weight and the uneven footing. Xander made a funny little squeak of surprise and grabbed tighter and Spike braced one leg and _pushed_ and they both ended up more or less upright, clinging together. The air was thick with humidity and the scents of wet earth and wood, ozone and water. 

_*In the woods...fuck, not **those** woods...bloody hell...*_

"Oh, god, Spike, are we still there?" Xander's voice cracked a little and he swallowed hard. "Are we still in Neverland?"

"I can't tell. Be quiet a minute." Spike _listened_ , face shifting. Ignoring Xander's heartbeat and the creaky wheeze of his lungs. A breeze rushed through the treetops, shaking down a little mini-shower, water pattering over the leaves. Far away was the soft rumble of dying thunder, the storm moving away. And then another sound, much closer and growing louder and Spike relaxed, letting out a little laugh. "Hear that?"

"Hear what? I –" Xander stopped talking – stopped breathing when Spike squeezed his shoulder. The sound was loud enough now and Spike felt Xander take a deep, shaking breath, relaxing under his hand. "That's – a car. Isn't it? That's a car engine."

"Got it in one, pet," Spike said. Somewhere below them – at the bottom of the slope they were standing on – headlights flickered between tree trunks as a car wound slowly past. Spike could hear the tyres hissing over the wet road – could very faintly hear some sort of music. 

"We're home, we're home, we're – are we?" Xander's fingers skittered over Spike's coat – found his lapels and shook him very slightly. "Spike, do you know where we are?"

"Stop crumpling the leather, for fuck's sake." Spike pried Xander's hands loose and then just held onto his wrists. Listening with other senses – listening with his whole body. _*There it is. Hook, you mad bastard. You were right.*_ "Can you feel it, Xander?" Spike whispered, watching as Xander blinked and then shut his eyes, frowning.

"I feel...my feet are wet and there's a rock...and...kind of...tingly?" His eyes popped open, looking around blindly and Spike could feel Xander's heart beat through the thin skin of his wrists. "What is that?"

"Hellmouth, is what that is. All that power, buzzing away like a hive of bees underground."

"I never felt it before. I think. Fuck, I don't remember."

"Like as not you didn't. Got sensitive to it, is all." Spike rubbed his thumbs slowly over the pulse in Xander's wrists – heard his little catch of breath and felt him sway infinitesimally closer. _*Now what am I going to do with this boy? This...lost boy. Be a shame to drain him, after all this...*_

"What are we gonna do now?" Xander asked, and Spike leaned forward carefully, not wanting to startle Xander in the dark and get a chin in the face. His cheek touched Xander's and Xander flinched ever so slightly and then Spike let the demon go and Xander turned his face and they were kissing again.

After a minute or two Spike pulled away. "Don't know about you, mate, but I'm starving. And you could use a wash and brush. How 'bout we go check on my car, get some nosh, relax?"

"Would there be pizza?" Xander breathed. "Meat-lovers with extra...meat and about a gallon of soda and won tons and General Tso's chicken and –"

"You'll be sick if you eat all that."

"You _so_ do not know me, my fanged friend. That's just for _starters_. Uh. I don't actually have any money."

"Well, neither do I, at the moment." Spike reached into his pocket, hoping for one last smoke. Instead something jabbed his finger. " _Ow_! Bloody hell –" He jerked his hand out of his pocket and Tink came out with it, fluttering up to hover between himself and Xander.

"Tink! Hey!" Xander held out his hand and Tink settled lightly – hugged Xander's up thrust thumb. "You look better – do you feel okay now?" Tink chimed softly – lofted himself upward and flew in dizzying circles. "I think he feels okay."

"Bloody fairy," Spike muttered, but Xander was grinning, blinking happily in the dim mauve light Tinkerbell gave off. "Well, come on – time we were off. Hangin' about in the woods isn't anyplace we want to be."

"Yeah, okay." Xander followed Spike downhill, stumbling and sliding until Spike reached back and grabbed his arm, keeping him mostly upright. Tinkerbell darted back and forth, chiming wildly until Xander finally coaxed him onto his shoulder – kept up a low monologue of words while they crunched through bracken and wet leaves. "You ever have pizza, Tink? Oh, man – it's the best. And Twinkies – they're better than any kind of fairy food. And then there's Slurpees – you haven't had the perfect brainfreeze 'til you've had a Blue Raspberry Slurpee. And corn dogs! And cheese popcorn. And Twizzlers – cherry only, the strawberry are weird –"

"Great jumping gods, is food all you think about?" Spike slithered the last, muddy steps down hill and stepped out onto the road. Xander stumbled happily in his wake, picking leaves out of his hair.

"I think I missed food more than I missed my mom. No, wait – I _know_ I did." Xander looked up and down the road, squinting a little. A very faint light – mostly reflected city lights – filtered down through the trees. "So – Sunnydale's thataway, huh?"

"Seems like." Spike felt reflexively for a cigarette and cursed as he once again encountered an empty pocket. First stop – smokes. He stomped down the road and then stopped and turned when he realized that Xander was just standing there. "Well? Come on, then – haven't got all night."

"Um. Maybe you could just...go on without me? I mean...maybe I could just kind of...hang back." Xander's hand was on the knife in his belt, fingers clutched tightly around the worn leather wrappings. "You know – get my bearings."

 _*Oh, what now? Sodding humans...*_ "Thought you were panting to get the goodies – have yourself some kind of junk-food orgy? Get a hot shower and kip in a real bed."

"Well, _yeah_ , I am, it's just... I mean..." Xander stopped, his eyes suspiciously bright and Spike heaved a martyred sigh – stomped back to stand not a foot from him. Tink was chiming softly, his little hands patting at Xander's ear.

"What, then?"

"It's just...what if they...forgot about me? What if they don't...? I mean, I've _changed_ , you know? And – and they've changed, and....it's a whole big – change-y kinda... _thing_." Xander waved his hands around, looking frantic. "You know?"

"Not really. Look – they're your mates. Either they give a shite or they don't. You skulkin' about in the woods like a scared rabbit isn't going to change that." Xander shrugged, looking away – sniffed and wiped hastily at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

"I'm scared, okay? You happy? I'm scared they won't care anymore." Tink made a distressed little noise and fluttered up of Xander's shoulder to hover a few inches in front of his face. He patted at Xander's chin and darted in, pressing his tiny mouth to Xander's lower lip.

"Well, the _fairy_ cares," Spike muttered, and Xander gave a shaky laugh and held his palm up for Tink. The fairy lighted there, hugging Xander's thumb and Xander very carefully stroked Tink's back with the tip of his pinky. Tink seemed to really...like that.

"I think the fairy cares a little too much. Tink," Xander said, looking solemnly down at the pointy little face that was slack with pleasure. "Tink, it'd never work. We're not even the same...species." Spike snorted and Tink shot him a filthy look and then shrugged, wrapping his arms more tightly around Xander's thumb and very unsubtly humping the callused skin.

"Listen, Xander. Let's just go hole up in my house – well, Angelus' house, but who fucking cares? You can get your bearings from in town, yeah? We'll get you some clothes and – and a haircut if you want or...something. No reason to rush things. Xander?"

Xander was still petting Tink's back, sweeping a little lower with every touch. He had a wicked look on his face. "Huh? Um. Okay, yeah. Yeah, you're right. No reason to rush things... Wow, I guess their wings are like – erogenous zones or something."

"You're one sick little puppy, you know that?" 

Xander grinned up at Spike and then half turned away, shielding Tink from Spike's gaze. "We're having a moment here, Spike. Care to give us some privacy?"

"Wanker." Spike turned on his heel and stalked away and after a moment he heard Xander's bare feet on the road. He glanced back to see the boy jogging to catch up, a languorously curled Tink on his shoulder, holding tight to a lock of hair. "All done now, then? Need to get separate rooms?"

"You're just jealous the fairy likes _me_ best."

"Soon change that," Spike said, and then snapped his mouth shut, horrified. He marched on, ignoring Xander's hysterical giggles.

 

"They look different," Xander said, and Spike shifted around on his stool a little bit and squinted through the lights. Looking toward the little table where the witches and the Slayer were sitting, nursing neon-colored drinks. The older one – the teacher – wasn't there. 

_*And thank Christ for that. Bloody gypsy.*_ "Well, been nearly three years, hasn't it?" Spike said, and Xander shrugged – nodded. He looked different too, now that Spike had stolen him some proper clothes. Looked like the grown-up he nearly was in new jeans and a plain, dark red t-shirt. He'd left his hair long, curling nearly to his shoulders. It had a sheen like a sealskin now that it was clean and combed and Spike liked to run his fingers through it. When Xander let him, which was...pretty bloody often. Getting cozy, they were.

It reminded him of Dru, truth be told, though he didn't say that out loud. 

"Yeah, I guess. I just... It's _weird_! Willow's all... _gay_ and Buffy's like...a grown up, and they're in college... I can't believe it's been so long." Xander took a sip of his soda, toying with the straw. "Maybe I'll just...you know...go over and say hi."

"Maybe you will, pet," Spike agreed, fishing for a smoke and inhaling gratefully. Sodding California and its sodding anti-smoking laws. Xander sat and fidgeted and sipped his drink and Spike smoked and when smoke and drink were both gone, Spike stood up. "Think I'll take a little stroll – have a bite," Spike said, and Xander slithered off his own stool, looking grateful.

"Guess I'll just – tag along. Wouldn't want you getting hurt."

"In your bloody dreams," Spike muttered, but they walked out of the Bronze with wrists and shoulders casually brushing. Habit, now. Xander stalked his former friends, Spike didn't point out that he never actually talked to them – they both hunted down feeding vamps. Spike – or Xander - would stake the vamp and Spike would take a nice long drink from a swooning victim. Xander would then take said victim to the nearest safe place and they'd wander on in search of more until Spike was satisfied or Xander was tired. Imperfect, but workable. Tonight, they only went a couple of blocks before Spike was lifting his hand and nodding toward an alley and Xander was drawing a stake from the inner pocket of his jacket, dark eyes alight with adrenalin. Whatever else Pan had taught the boy, he'd taught him how to hunt.

 

Spike wiped his mouth off and sucked the end of his thumb clean – watched Xander shove the half-dead man into a cab and send him on his way. Big, hairy, garlicky half-dead man. Not something Spike would ever choose for himself. _Sodding sick of this, I am. Had enough. Feel like some kind of damn pet on a leash.*_ Suddenly it was all too _much_ , and Spike made up his mind in an instant. "Going to head out tomorrow," he said abruptly and watched Xander blanch, eyes going wide. "Know a vamp or two in San Francisco – they'll get this chip sorted for me."

"San – San Francisco? But – I thought..."

"What, thought I'd spend the rest of my unlife here? Eating sloppy seconds and having a _boy_ for a bodyguard? Not bloody likely." Spike snapped his Zippo open and lit a cigarette – ignored the look of hurt on Xander's face. 

"I guess... I guess I'd better find someplace to live, then," Xander mumbled and Spike stopped dead, unconsciously letting his face slip into the demon's mask as he growled in pure irritation. Xander flinched a little but kept going, head down. Fists shoved hard into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunching. "I mean, I can't stay at the Crawford Street house forever, somebody's gonna want it and...and it's too big for just me anyway, and –"

"What in _bloody_ hell are you going on about?" Spike snarled. Xander just shrugged, walking a little faster and Spike stomped after him – rounded on him, glaring. Xander stopped dead and glared back. "Look, mate, it's been a month, yeah? An entire damn month of trailing around after the Slayer and those witches, making mournful faces in the window at the Watcher's house like the sodding Match Girl, and you've not _once_ opened your gob and said _one bloody word_! It's time to move on!"

"Yeah, well – so? You've got your car and your – your stolen stuff and your big – moving – plans so just – move! Not like you –" Xander clamped his mouth shut hard on whatever was coming next and Spike just stared at him. Breathing, and then paying attention to what he was breathing. After a moment he let his face relax back into human – let his mouth move into a little half-smile.

"Oh, that's how it is, yeah?"

"That's how what is?" Xander mumbled, sidestepping around Spike, moving away, booted feet crunching on broken glass. 

"That's how _you_ are," Spike said, catching up. "This is."

" _What is?_ And if you say 'What's on second', I'll shove that cigarette up your –"

"Calm down, pet."

"Don't _tell_ me that!" Xander stopped again, snapping up his arm in a 'talk to the hand' gesture. "I hate that!"

"Well, then, bloody calm down!" Xander huffed and then stood there, seething, and Spike took a long last drag and flipped the butt away, trying for his own calm. "Look, what I'm saying is... You just don't _fit_ here anymore. You've seen things, done things you _know_ that mob wouldn't approve of. You don't fit into their little world anymore. Besides..." Spike leaned in a little, getting right into Xander's face and space and the thin aura of heat and scent that surrounded him. "You like _me_ better."

"No I don't," Xander snapped, but he was looking away – was leaning into Spike, just a little, and Spike grinned. 

"Course you do – why shouldn't you? I don't care who you killed or how you did it or that you slept with some little kid –"

"He was the same age as me," Xander muttered. He sighed and leaned all the way, then – let his head drop onto Spike's shoulder and Spike's hand came automatically to rub the back of Xander's neck, fingers tangling in his hair. "It's just... I thought I'd come back and the first thing I'd do was go see Willow and Buffy and...it'd all just...be the same!"

"I know," Spike murmured, eyes on the alley mouth across from them. Something was lurking.

"And it's _not_. Nothing's the same. They're totally different and I don't... I hate it here. Everybody hides from the truth. Everybody knows bad stuff is happening and they're all just – pretending it doesn't." Xander lifted his head, his hands creeping forward to stroke lightly along Spike's sides. "I'm sick of pretending things and...hiding things. I can't go back to that. I can't make-believe anymore, Spike. I just can't."

"And you don't have to," Spike said, rubbing his thumb along the soft skin and softer hair just behind Xander's ear. The slightest encouraging pull and Xander was pressed up tight against him, mouth to mouth and hip to hip. He tasted like Coke and beer nuts and bubble gum toothpaste. He felt warm – solid – and Spike slid a hand around Xander's hip and held him close, enjoying the little flutter of Xander's heart and the reflexive clutch of callused fingers when Spike tilted his hips and _pushed_.

"Can I come to San Francisco with you?" Xander whispered, nose brushing Spike's nose and his hand rubbing slowly down Spike's back, fingertips dipping into the waist of Spike's jeans.

"Never planned on leaving you behind. Just needed you to make up your mind proper," Spike whispered back. He felt Xander shift against him – felt something hard pressing into his thigh.

"There's a vamp over there," Xander breathed, and Spike laughed softly.

"You go left, I'll go right, eh?"

"Gotcha." Xander was grinning as he spun around and lunged, and Spike laughed out loud. 

_*Not so lost anymore, are you, boy?*_

 

Epilogue - San Francisco

"Hey, Spike! You awake?"

"Well I am _now_ ," Spike muttered into his pillow. He tracked Xander's footsteps from the front door to the bed – listened to the little hops and the sliding thumps that were Xander's boots being yanked off en route and tossed. Then the mattress lurched as Xander flopped down onto it and Spike levered himself up onto his elbows, pillow bunched between his forearms. Squinting at Xander through his lashes.

"It's almost six," Xander said.

"So? Still light out." 

"When did _that_ ever stop you?" Xander crossed one leg over the other and regarded Spike with a thoughtful stare. "There's a Bruce Lee retrospective at the Castro tonight."

"Bully for the Castro, then." Spike let his head thump back down onto the pillow. It _hurt_. Quite a lot.

"So...your research... You were pretty wasted when you came home this morning." Xander's hand settled on the back of Spike's neck, kneading gently. "Did you... How'd that go?"

"You wondering if it worked?" Spike asked, every muscle going a little tense, now. 

Xander just kept kneading. "Well...yeah. I mean...not that I... I guess it's private," he ended lamely, and his fingers stilled for a moment in their rhythm. Started back up, a little ragged.

"It _is_ a little personal," Spike said and Xander's fingers stopped again – started to slip away. "You git." Spike lifted his head, looking over at Xander with a frown. "It's not _personal_. And since you asked, yes."

"Yes, what?" Xander stared for a moment and Spike stared back, eyebrow going up. "Oh. _Oh_. Yes, it worked?" Spike raised both eyebrows. "It did work. Oh, wow. Oh.... _wow_. So. Now you're all..." Xander's hand came off Spike's neck as he gestured, hands waving aimlessly in the air. "You're all..."

"Normal. Now I'm back to normal." Which was something Spike was going to celebrate with alcohol, blood and violence. Soon. As soon as his head stopped feeling like it had been in the way of a ten-ton lorry.

"Yeah. Normal. Except you look kinda...night-afterish," Xander said, propping himself on one elbow and looking Spike over with a critical gaze.

" _Feel_ night-afterish. Except there was no _night_. Just a bloody great zap of electricity."

"They fried it?" Xander's hand crept back across the sheets – slid up Spike's ribs and went back to gently kneading the back of Spike's neck.

Spike let his head drop down onto the pillow again. "Like a chip. And it bloody well hurt."

"I'll bet. I mean, I remember this one time in shop class I accidentally electrocuted myself on this lamp we were supposed to be making. Well, not _electrocuted_ really, I guess, 'cause I'm not dead, but –"

"Christ's sake," Spike muttered. He flopped himself inelegantly onto Xander, surprising a squeak out of him. "My _head_ hurts."

"I'm sorry," Xander said. On automatic. 

Spike sighed. "Not blaming you. Just _telling_ you. In case you wanted to do something about it." Spike blinked up at Xander, digging his chin into Xander's sternum a little and Xander blinked back.

"In case I... _oh_." The confused-puppy face became the 'this is my sexy' face, which made Spike snigger into Xander's button-up. Xander poked him in the shoulder. "Not exactly the response I was looking for."

"You're just so bloody..."

" _Don't say it!_ "

" _Cute_. Christ, it's like bedding a big Labrador pup."

Xander made a cross with his fingers and Spike flickered into his demon-face and then back to human, wincing. "Please don't tell me you actually know what sex with _dogs_ is like."

"That's sodding disgusting."

" _You_ are the one that brought it up, my fine fanged friend." 

Spike grabbed hold of Xander with arms and legs and rolled, bringing Xander down over him. Xander yelped and braced himself on his elbows and Spike made a pained sort of moan. "Christ. Like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. A _hot_ sledgehammer."

"Aww. Poor you. Maybe I could..." Xander leaned in a little and pressed his lips carefully to Spike's forehead. "...make it all better?"

"Maybe you could," Spike said. He slid his hands down Xander's back and burrowed under the hem of the shirt and t-shirt Xander was wearing, lifting and tugging until Xander sat up a little and pulled both shirts off over his head. "Been out in the sun again," Spike observed, fingertips feathering over the blush of pink on Xander's honey-tan collarbones.

"I was down at China Beach. Took my shirt off." Xander let his legs straddle Spike's hips and leaned down, pushing his nose into Spike's cheek. He breathed there for a moment, his hands doing a slow glide up Spike's arms and back down. He was warm – fever warm where the sun had pinked him – and Spike lifted his own hands and stroked them down Xander's back. He felt Xander's mouth move – open – felt his lips and tongue mouthing over the point of Spike's jaw. "You taste like burnt sugar," Xander murmured, and Spike pushed his fingertips past the waist of Xander's jeans, pressing into the curve of muscle there.

"Toasted marshmallow, you say?" Spike said, and Xander snorted into Spike's neck – bit down hard enough to sting, his tongue licking at the reddened flesh.

"Flaming, actually."

"Git."

"Ah ah ah." Xander lifted his head up, pouting at Spike. "Be nice, or no num nums." 

"If you're gonna call it _that_ –"

"Shut up, Spike." 

Xander was a damn good kisser, so Spike happily shut up. Happily let Xander lick and nip and suck from neck to hipbones to belly. _Ecstatically_ let Xander go down on him with the sloppy eagerness of a novice, making appreciative noises and tangling his fingers in all that heavy, silken hair.

He barely even noticed when Tink flew in and sprawled out on Spike's belly and humped himself to a tiny, messy orgasm in Spike's navel. 

"So you're like – the big bad vampire now, huh?" Xander asked breathlessly, naked, grinding his cock down onto Spike's hip. His hair all hanging in his eyes and his cheeks flushed – lips red and plump, inviting.

"Exactly. Not on any bloody leash anymore. It's fists and fangs anytime I like, now."

Xander stopped moving for a moment – stuck out his lip and blew his hair up and off his forehead. It immediately flopped back down and he stared at Spike through the strands. A long, considering look. Then he started moving again, making a little moan of pleasure when Spike's hands cupped his ass – pressed and stroked and teased over the sensitive skin between the cheeks. 

"You know what? I think that's kinda...oh _God_...kinda fuckin' hot," Xander panted and Spike had to agree.

**Author's Note:**

> In the book 'Peter Pan', the white-light faries were girls, the mauve-light faries were boys, and the blue-light faries were 'little sillies who didn't know what they were'.


End file.
